thirty minutes of solitude

this morning i drove to work in silence.

i switched off the radio and stepped into my own thoughts.

i was thinking about the book i am currently reading: 'the unbearable lightness of being' by milan kundera.

a couple of things: to me this book is an ultimate celebration of post-modernism. the author invites you into his story, he tells you it is nothing more than a story. are the characters imperative to the story? the author himself acknowledges that they don't exist beyond the bounds of this book, they are not people, merely tools driving the story (this is especially evident to me in the way that some seemingly important characters have dropped off throughout the story). I kind of wonder if this novel is merely a means for MK to assert his philosophy on love; as conflicted as it may be...on one hand he is exploring the sanctity of marriage and monogomy, and on the other (perhaps a desire to be a part of) the world of adultery.
there is so much subtext.
i love when i find myself staring into nowhere, suddenly seduced by what is unsaid (unwritten).

i love when he uses of words outside my own context. (imperative)

(sorry Peta...there are post-its all through your book :-)

random thought:

i was living with my head in a cloud, eating poetry for breakfast lunch and dinner, when Life sidled up to me, silent and coy, and gently took my hand.
Life brought me back to this reality of work, children, cooking countless dinners, watching tv, shopping, making love.