I spent most of the last week trying really hard not to whine about not feeling well, because there is little more annoying than listening to a grown-ass adult complain because she has the sniffles. But I didn't feeeeeeeel goooooooood and that was HARD. Because of the sniffling. And the feeling yucky. And wah wah wah. The truth is that I always get sick after I travel, and that was WEEKS AGO, now, and instead of getting full-blown, plague-level sick right away, I was just kind of stuck in this Victorian-fainting-couch level of feeling unwell for weeks, not getting better, but not really...
As an added bonus to my usual case of return-from-flying-the-friendly-skies-in-a-giant-germ-filled-metal-tube plague, both kids appear to have... something... as well. As in, they were sick before I got home, so I didn't give it to them. No one is deathly ill, we're all just ill-ish (is that a thing? I feel like if I were cooler, ill-ish would actually be a compliment, no?) and grumpy and SUPER FUN TO BE AROUND. Also, shut up and stop looking at me. Needless to say, this has made that whole getting-back-into-the-swing-of-things endeavor even more painful than anticipated. Because what now?...
While everyone else in the world is returning from BlogHer and waxing poetic about the people and the city and the knowledge and the experience, I am just wishing I had some---any, really---artistic ability. The two things I wish to share with you really require visual aids, but lord knows I can't even draw a straight line. So instead I will have to try that whole PAINT THE PICTURE WITH WORDS thing even though I suspect it will be insufficient. The first thing I need to tell you about is how excited I get when I go somewhere that requires pretty shoes. We all know I like pretty shoes, yes?...
I've been neglecting you. I'm sorry. I've been busy getting myself out the door to BlogHer, which (apparently) involves things like buying groceries and remembering while grabbing milk that I haven't packed any socks, and then chanting "socks, socks, socks" under my breath all the way home, where I then throw socks into my suitcase and resume normal life. An hour later I'm all "EYELINER!" like the fate of the world depends on it, and I totally sat up in the middle of the night certain that I'd forgotten to put my hair goop into an airline-approved-size container. In other words, it's hard...
Wooooo, I'm a social butterfly! (Now everyone who actually knows me gets to laugh and laugh and laugh.) Okay; fine. Maybe I'm not a true social butterfly, but I am pretending to be one, and I haven't had a nervous breakdown yet, so I guess it's working. It's true that I have somehow developed an enormous cold sore inside my upper lip (sexxxxxxxay, though invisible to anyone who isn't inside my mouth) (you do not belong inside my mouth) which I am 99.9% certain is from the STRESS of being AROUND OTHER PEOPLE, but to non-hermit-y people this may sound ridiculous. I can assure you that it...
I miss Otto's mother the most when we're getting ready to go camping or when we've just returned. Otto loves to recount stories of his youth, when his father wound his way around the country to various military bases on short assignments, and the family would pack up the station wagon and the Prowler camping trailer and spend their time at nearby campgrounds while his dad was working. Otto and his next-in-line brother have fond memories of these trips. Otto's mother HATED them, not the least of which, I suppose, because she was spending an entire summer trapped in a small space with small...
I don't really wear makeup. This is because: 1) I work from home, and prefer hiding in my office to interacting with people, and 2) I am exceedingly lazy. On a day when I'm working from home (most weekdays) or just puttering around the house (most weekends), I wear jeans and t-shirts and my hair is unruly and wet all day and I wear my glasses and the only thing that goes on my face is maybe a little moisturizer. Fancy! On a day when I have to do Official Work Things Among People, I wear pretty clothes and expensive shoes and I straighten my hair and make it SUPER SHINY and put in my contacts...
I remember when I first moved to Georgia and became acquainted with the fresh hell that is the palmetto bug (motto: we're too genteel to admit we're roaches!), at some point as I sat huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth and trying to find my happy place, I had this vaguely reassuring thought about how "at least they don't have those awful little house ants." You know the ones I'm talking about, right? Every summer in New England, there would be a beautiful morning when you would wake up, listen to the birds chirping, go downstairs, and discover that your entire kitchen was now covered...
I'm doing an experiment this summer, though saying it like that makes it sound like I'm being all official and science-y, when in reality I am just trying to embrace my inner sloth. Here it is: I'm trying not to work on the weekends. WEIRD, RIGHT?? I tend to suffer from a common affliction called "freelance creep;" sure, I sleep a little later on the weekends, but I find myself using those weekend days to catch up on things I somehow didn't finish during the week. It sounds innocuous, but then I find myself sitting at the computer for hours and I hear that just walking away from work for a...
