okay, pretty much everything is rotten in this place.
but really i just meant something crazy is going on in my house.
you take ONE damn Shakespeare class and you think you're cool.
it's a hazard.
anyway, back to the rotten-ness.
i'll spare you the details...(okay, probably not enough of the details...)
but i bought my first box of nasty sugar cereal for the boys and they ate way too much of it yesterday.
just as snacks.
i would never consider that shit a meal.
i used to make my own babyfood--surprisingly easy.
and i only feed them whole grains and they love vegetables.
they're not just wild little devils.
they're healthy wild little devils.
who are not used to having much sugar...
anyway, bottom line is, all the food coloring in that stuff has made a second appearance.
so i got some wonderful emails from my friend J. over the weekend and as i replied to her I remembered.
i remembered how super duper exactly right it is when i write to her.
in fact, that's one reason i started a blog in the first place, and now i don't use that voice at all.
and that's just plain no good.
so i'll work on it.
oh and i had a deep thought the other day.
and since that's about as common as, say, rain in the desert? i'll share it with you.
(side note: it has taken me well over a half hour to get this far. the kids are being vastly more than mildly uncooperative.)
my deep thought was this: whenever i say i'm writing a novel (and believe me it's more often than necessary), the very first question anyone asks is, "what's it about?"
and this irritates the bloody hell out of me.
well, because it's not a simple answer.
and it reminds me of when this friend of mine got divorced.
and this is what she said, "people ask me why i got divorced and i can't tell them. there wasn't just one reason. there were so many things that just added up and made it inevitable."
so that's how i feel about the book.
it's not a simple answer.
to say it's a romance is very misleading.
to say it's a tale of sex drugs and rockn roll.
well, i guess that's right on the money, but even that isn't enough.
i guess it's just too close to my heart to want to put a label on it.
and just writing this has made me ache to pour myself into it again, to finish that bastard up and start the endless procession of rejection letters.
i'm actually eager to get the first ones because each one i get is just one step closer to an acceptance.
isn't that optimistic attitude cute?
don't you just want to slap me?
i want to take my lap top and run away for a few weeks, months, years...
whatever it takes to get some real fucking writing done.
some uninterupted, guilt-free, sink in and feel it writing.
like right this very second i am answering my sons questions that he is hollering to me from the playroom.
for some reason he's worried that i'm going to leave without him.
i'm in my fucking pajamas.
not going anywhere, sweets, don't you worry.
i know, i know.
no one forced me to have kids.
i love them to smithereens.
but jesus friggin cripes.
okay, enough pissing and moaning.
how about if we talk about the weather?
would that be a nice harmless little jaunt?
not that i would know anything about the weather.
i've just crawled out of a two day hangover.
which is totally weird cuz i really didn't drink that much.
i'm going with the "someone slipped something into my drink" theory.
cuz that looks waaaay better to me right now than the "i'm so fucking old and crusty that i can't handle a few beers anymore" theory.
that one sucks.
and the next time i get one of those "get prescriptions online" emails.
i'm ordering a case of valium.
i think my life would be so much more...
oh, i don't know...
more fuzzy and soft and unperturbable.
i may have just made that word up, but i like it.
i would also like to name today Parentheses Day.
i've used more sets of parentheses in this post than probably in all others combined.
and that should count for something...
well, i guess i can't really give this day a second holiday...
happy Mardi Gras, everyone.
have the phatest of Fat Tuesdays and say something french to everyone you meet, or at least flash them your boobies.
and if they look at you funny (for that last one) just give them the stink eye and ask with great annoyance, "where are my beads?"