You're Invited to a Pity Party

This blog thing is harder than it looks. 

As you’re reading this statement, I assume that you’re picturing me as a whiny and pretentious 4-year old with pigtails and an astonishingly upturned nose, shoving expensive chocolates and Petrossian special-reserve caviar down her pie-hole, a la Augustus Gloop.  That’s what I’m imagining, anyway.

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Really, M, grow a set.  It can’t be that bad.  It was your idea, after all.  

But seriously, for someone like me who is perilously underequipped in all things will-related, committing to a rigid (or not-so-rigid if you consider my track record) schedule of intelligent and thought-provoking scrawlings is a heavy burden to carry.  I understand now why authors tend to rent out wooded cabins and spend months alone with their typewriter or laptop after running their smart phone over with a riding lawnmower.  Life gets in the way.

On the other hand though, the flavor of life is what really makes the cake worth eating, now isn’t it?  Though I would venture to guess that such deliberate isolation must breed tremendous creativity [and serial killers], I don’t think that I could ever fully commit to a life entirely powered by my mind and an electric typewriter.  

I know I wasn’t born with an imagination like Lewis Carroll, which I do think is really too bad, but my disappointment is tempered by the threat of what would possibly happen if my dreams became scripted reality.  A chiropractor that uses a power drill to correct your T4/T5 spinal misalignment is still pretty scary, even on paper (especially at age 11, which was when this sickening brainchild came to me in the night – my sister can confirm that the next 3 years were full of dreams and mental snapshots that were quite alarming but simultaneously had the potential to make me a cool million in slasher film royalties).  It's a good thing I haven't written all of them down.  That is, unless you consider that as a result, I didn't make a cool million in slasher film royalties.  Then it seems less good.

And all of this creativity happened without the massive opiate supply that Lewis Carroll must have been employing – we are agreed on that fact, right?

I guess what I’m saying is that finishing each of these little posts is like taking a good nap.  For the experience to be sufficiently gratifying, I need to expend a fair amount of energy in preparation and do some rigorous carbo-loading in advance.   It’s not as easy as it seems.  Please, feel for me.

And can you hand me a napkin?  I've dribbled a little caviar down my front.  

Swiper No Swiping

I want to apologize for my absence yesterday.  We were spending time with family, but at least your mind got a break from trying to follow my thoughts, right?  Back to the headache...

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This

Is

Ridiculous.

1.  It’s 48 degrees in the house

and

2.  There must be six inches of new snow on the ground. And the sky still has its winter wonderland on.

We are not at the cabin – we’re still 5 hours south – and up north, they are probably digging out of a foot or more.  They say that heaven is above and hell below, but I think there must have been some confusion this morning, because what is happening right now is definitely not nice.  Especially when we’re not using oil heat. 

I’ve built a fire though and am practically sitting on the woodstove as I write this, so I am beginning to be able to focus more clearly, which is to say, strap on your thinking caps because this is going to be another mind bending story hour with your friendly hookah smoking caterpillar.   

www.listoracle.com

Where do I find those shoes?!

By the way, I love this movie, even the new one.  And no, I’ve never read the book.  

I'm so sorry.

On the plus side, I think I just found our costumes for next Halloween.  Everyone will be screaming, and parents will ensure that C is not allowed near children.  Ever again.

www.guntheranderson.com

Except maybe his brother's.   We had one of our nieces “on loan” during the day of the funeral this week.  This only means that she rode with us for the three or so hours it took to get to there, and that she kept us entertained the entire way – we didn’t do any work all.  C and I have been striving for crazy aunt and uncle status, so our behavior is not always commendable when we’re around the kids.  I did my part by helping to get a chunk of my niece’s gorgeous golden hair stuck in the motorized wheel of her hamster Zhuzhu Pet.  Then, during our drive Uncle C picked a Wiggles station on Pandora that randomly included the pop tune “Soul Sister”.  I had never noticed any swear words in that song.  Until then.  Don’t worry though – we didn’t catch it in time to cover her chaste 4 year-old ears, so when she’s trash talking your kid on the playground next fall, you can come egg our house.  If you can find it.

During our drive, we also ate lunch at the Skylark Diner, which I highly recommend if you find yourself in Edison, New Jersey anytime soon.  Be forewarned though – this is NOT a diner.   It is a bistro that ate a diner.  So, it’s really a bistro.  You’ll love it.

Like I warned previously, this post is of caterpillar mind-bending caliber.  There is no train of thought today.  No flow.  No real story.  I apologize, and promise I will be back swinging next week.  But right now, my icy fingers are struggling with the keyboard, and my fleece pants are on fire.  

Please excuse me.