Between too little and too much social interaction.

Lifted from Jane Austen: A Life:

“The ability to sustain long works of fiction is at least partially dependent on establishing a delicate balance between solitude and interaction. Too much human noise during the writing of a novel distracts from the cleanliness of its over-arching plan. Too little social interruption, on the other hand, distorts a writer’s sense of reality and allows feeling to ‘prey’ on the consciousness.”

One hundred and one.

While waiting for people to disperse from the Nokia Care counter so that I could have my phone serviced, P and I wandered into Tower Records/PowerBooks. I was magnetized to the books section; P twirled his way to the records section (thank God the Ramoses thought of combining both businesses in just one store. They should be credited for keeping couples happy with each other. When before I used to frown into a unibrow or expel long, tortured sighs whenever P whined about wanting to buy music, when really all I wanted to do was fall into a coma everytime I had to wait for him to painstakingly choose between two albums by the same artist/group whose name I had never heard of or didn’t really care about. P would vacillate between CD A and CD B [Which should I get? This or This? I’d roll my eyes and say, For God’s sake buy them both!]. This would prompt him to run around the store some more, almost feverish, eyes glazed like a heroin addict, and end up buying five albums [which explains why we are still poor]. Now, with the advent of the bookslashmusic store, we can leave each other in peace).

I remember the time we were in Hong Kong for a week. P made daily pilgrimages to HMV and nearby music stores. I say “pilgrimages” because he made several trips there in a day. I kid you not when I say that he opened and closed the CD stores in Kowloon (the ones nearest our hotel). I would be splayed on our hotel room bed, muscles aching all over, at 12 AM, and he’d say, Just relax, okay, I’ll just make a quick trip to HMV . . . do you want me to bring you chicken? He knew how to make me pliant and willing like that. Speaking of HK, they have a wonderful assortment of classic movies on DVD and they’re cheap (and original). I bought a couple of my favorites, those that I find difficult to source in Pinas like old Woody Allen movies, a Robert Quine classic, a couple of Zhang Yi Mous, and an early Ang Lee and Wong Kar Wai.

Going back to our day at Tower Records/PowerBooks, P made several purchases: a couple of local, award-winning digital films and a compilation of classic tunes which he claimed were all for me (his way of saying that he’s still entitled to purchases that are just for him next time). I bought a book which contains a lovely quote that says, “The books we choose, choose us too.” I made a mental nod to myself, while my brain whispered, “How true . . . how true.” I recalled the many times I bought a book only because it seemed to jump at me. While at the cash register, my eyes drifted on the book the cashier was reading. The cover screamed 101 Ways to Spoil Your Husband in bold letters. I looked at the young woman’s face and, though it was very pretty, I could tell that she was very tired. Well, I thought, of course! Who wouldn’t be tired being a cashier by day and going home at night to perform 101 favors for a husband? The lucky bastard . . .