Going in Circles

Informationen zum Autor Pamela Ribon Klappentext Charlotte Goodman has had enough surprises.In fact, she reached her life's quotient when her husband of five months walked out on her, only to abruptly change his mind a few weeks later and move back in. Stung by a whiplash of grief, resentment, and confusion, Charlotte calls a time-out, taking a small apartment where she can figure out what she wants. Instead, the thought of making even the simplest choices triggers an anxiety attack. In order to get out of bed in the morning, she must concoct a to-do list for each day, The Plan, one with absolutely no surprises.Without The Plan, horrible things can happen. I'm likely to end up sitting on a curb beside a taco truck on Sunset Boulevard, crying over a carne asada burrito, wondering where my marriage went. I can't handle being the Weeping Burrito Girl.Charlotte knows all this self-absorbed introspection isn't good for her, but she's running out of people to turn to, as seemingly everyone in her life is pressuring her to make an immediate decision about her future. Then her new friend Francescaan impulsive, smartass co-workeroffers Charlotte salvation in the unlikeliest of places: the fast-paced, super-tough, bump-and-bruise-filled world of roller derby.Sure, it's dangerous. Yeah, she could get hurt. But what's a little physical pain when healing your soul is at stake? The question is: whether she's on or off the track, will Charlotte be strong enough to stand on her own two feet? Zusammenfassung Charlotte Goodman has had enough surprises. In fact! she reached her life's quotient when her husband of five months walked out on her! only to abruptly change his mind a few weeks later and move back in. Stung by a whiplash of grief! resentment! and confusion! Charlotte calls a time-out! taking a small apartment where she can figure out what she wants. Instead! the thought of making even the simplest choices triggers an anxiety attack. In order to get out of bed in the morning! she must concoct a to-do list for each day! The Plan! one with absolutely no surprises. Without The Plan! horrible things can happen. I'm likely to end up sitting on a curb beside a taco truck on Sunset Boulevard! crying over a carne asada burrito! wondering where my marriage went. I can't handle being the Weeping Burrito Girl. Charlotte knows all this self-absorbed introspection isn't good for her! but she's running out of people to turn to! as seemingly everyone in her life is pressuring her to make an immediate decision about her future. Then her new friend Francescaan impulsive! smartass co-workeroffers Charlotte salvation in the unlikeliest of places: the fast-paced! super-tough! bump-and-bruise-filled world of roller derby. Sure! it's dangerous. Yeah! she could get hurt. But what's a little physical pain when healing your soul is at stake? The question is: whether she's on or off the track! will Charlotte be strong enough to stand on her own two feet? ...

Autorentext
Pamela Ribon

Klappentext
Charlotte Goodman has had enough surprises.

In fact, she reached her life’s quotient when her husband of five months walked out on her, only to abruptly change his mind a few weeks later and move back in. Stung by a whiplash of grief, resentment, and confusion, Charlotte calls a time-out, taking a small apartment where she can figure out what she wants. Instead, the thought of making even the simplest choices triggers an anxiety attack. In order to get out of bed in the morning, she must concoct a to-do list for each day, The Plan, one with absolutely no surprises.


“Without The Plan, horrible things can happen. I’m likely to end up sitting on a curb beside a taco truck on Sunset Boulevard, crying over a carne asada burrito, wondering where my marriage went. I can’t handle being the Weeping Burrito Girl.”

Charlotte knows all this self-absorbed introspection isn’t good for her, but she’s running out of people to turn to, as seemingly everyone in her life is pressuring her to make an immediate decision about her future. Then her new friend Francesca—an impulsive, smartass co-worker—offers Charlotte salvation in the unlikeliest of places: the fast-paced, super-tough, bump-and-bruise-filled world of roller derby.

Sure, it’s dangerous. Yeah, she could get hurt. But what’s a little physical pain when healing your soul is at stake? The question is: whether she’s on or off the track, will Charlotte be strong enough to stand on her own two feet?

 

Leseprobe
1.

I’ve done the thing where I’m awake but I haven’t yet opened my eyes. I’m in that twilight haze where I know I’m not asleep but I can’t move a muscle. I’ve only got a second or two left before the panic will set in that I’ve somehow slept myself into becoming a paraplegic, that during the night I wrestled in some kind of nightmare that caused me to twist in horror, snapping my own neck, dooming me to an eternity of immobility.

Naturally, this will then trigger a second wave of fear. If I have separated my head from the rest of my body there’s no real way that I can let anyone know this has happened. I will have to remain useless and numb, stuck in this position until someone figures out I’ve gone missing. I fear that it won’t be a matter of hours, but perhaps days or weeks before anyone truly notices. My office mate, Jonathan, will eventually get bored with this unexpected man-holiday and will finally ask someone if I died.

But first, there’s this special just-up time, when I can’t move and I can barely think, when everything is perfect. I’m half in the real world but still able to clutch on to whatever dream I’m reluctant to depart. That makes this person I am—this Charlotte Goodman, age thirty, a skinny brunette with absolutely no singing voice and a deep aversion to paper cuts—nothing more than a concept. I’m not a real person and I don’t have to be. Yet.

The dream I just fell from was gloriously mundane. I was sitting in seat 16A of a Continental flight somehow headed to a Starbucks, where I was to pick up a DVD for Sandra Bullock. This was supposed to be important. I was sitting next to a college frat boy who was singing the words to . . .

No, wait. I was sitting next to a sorority girl who was talking about her boyfriend who was the lead singer for . . .

No.

Damn. Nothing. It’s gone.

Eyes open.

Morning, Sunshine.

Matthew used to say that every morning. It was a sarcastic dig at how terrible I am for the first hour before I get three good cups of coffee into me. It’s not new—back in high school my parents would sometimes find an excuse to leave the house rather than wake me up early. They became avid churchgoers just to avoid my morning wrath. I know it’s not right to hate everything before nine in the morning, but I don’t understand how everybody acts like it’s okay to be up at that hour. If we all got together and took a stand, we could all sleep in and force mornings to become a time for sleep and sleep only.

An early riser, Matthew would be well into his day, coffee brewed, having sometimes already gone for a run, taken a shower, and eaten breakfast before I waddled into the room, half-asleep, half-dressed, usually with only one eye open.

“Shh,” he’d say, cradling my face with one hand. “Half of Charlotte is still asleep. Right Eye needs more dreaming.”

And he’d whisper, pretending to tiptoe around the right side of me, the one that could wake up with a roar. “Shh. Right Eye is such an angel when she̵…

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