An attempt, whether good or bad.

I finally finished "Eat, Pray, Love" last night.

I'm undecided. Not that it entirely matters whether or not I think well of the attempt.

Except it does matter. I'm the reader, after all.

So, that being the case, I guess I must form an opinion of sorts.

I read it. But it's not something I would be proud to have written.

But then, I've never written a book. So I would maybe be a little proud to have written it.

But if I were a writer, one who has a book or two floating around out there, I would not be proud to have written it.

Yes. It's very self-indulgent.

Yes. I was warned from page one, by the author herself, that self-indulgent would be the case.

And some people don't have any problems with being self-indulgent, especially while "healing."

But it bugs me. Well, it bugged me. I got over it as soon as I closed the book.

I always finish a book.

Then I vent to Scott about it a bit like it's his fault, "How could someone go to Italy without stepping foot inside a church or museum?"

I don't care how good the pizza is.

Then I try to think of the redeeming qualities so I don't seem to think it devoid of any originality or merit, "Well, I guess she wasn't thinking conventionally, like a tourist."

And then I put it in the shelf where it is most aesthetically pleasing, knowing full-well that I won't be reading it again.

But I will see the movie.

I love Julia Roberts too much to not see the movie.