Dirty Secrets

It’s confession time!

I ate BOTH poptarts.

My bills are late.

I bought expensive perfume online (ie. without ever smelling it) – and I hate it.  It’s non-returnable.  I am wracked with guilt. 

 = smelly old lady.

I have way, way, WAY too many books, many of which I have not yet read.  But I still buy more.

I’m procrastinating!  Right now!

I know far too much about whiskey and sex.  I know very little about gardening.

I am fascinated with those shows about the morbidly obese.

Reality rarely matches my expectations.  I am a horrid idealist.

I have only one grandparent left, and I don’t visit her enough.  I know I will regret this.

Ahh – okay, that’s enough for now.  What about you?  Need to take a load off?  Drop it in the comments.  You’ll feel better.

  

Omne ignotum pro magnifico est.

“We have great notions of everything unknown.”

So, about my new book – it’s really coming along, but I have no idea what’s going to happen from chapter to chapter.  So it’s a discovery, filled with great notions of what is unknown.  It’s rather like feeling around in a dark room while trying to find the light switch, and as you search your fingertips brush against wondrous things and you are compelled to identify them using only your intuition.

Or something like that.

Okay, and here’s a secret: I’m grossing myself out with this book.  Like, the other day, I couldn’t even eat my lunch as I worked.  Which is kind of funny.  See, when I was young and living with my step-father, he used to think it was great fun to gross us out at dinner time.  He worked at the sewer authority, and would come home with all sorts of vile tales and revolting tidbits of information you could successfully live your whole life without hearing. 

So he’d wait until we were eating dinner to commence, and while we tried to eat he would talk on and on about sewage and miscarried fetuses, all things flushed and all things expelled.  Basically, it was just your average meal, with a side of horror.  But the thing was, I got really good at eating through it.

And now?  Well, apparently the 20 years or so that I have been out of his home have softened me.  I had to throw my food in the garbage because my own writing was so graphic and disgusting that I could not tolerate the sight of my lunch.  Seriously.  

My friends, I am forced to contemplate: Is the force of my writing such that I am physically moved, or have I become so weak of stomach that mere words and the images they conjure are enough to put me off my lunch? 

In other news, I am going to the pulmonary doctor today to be seen about asthma. 

This is my life, in all its splendor.  

Things I Covet, Part I

 

 

This is a Michele watch.  I am possessed with envious lust.

Retails at  $1445.00.

Sad Fact:  I will not purchase this watch, even though I found it online for $924.80, with free shipping.

Creeped Out

Okay, so about 2 years ago, my brother-in-law killed himself.  It’s a long story, and a sad one, too, but that’s not my point.

So here I am, sitting at my computer, thinking of all the things I want to accomplish today (writing, laundry, paying bills, maybe a run on the treadmill (this should really move to the number two spot)).  It can be pretty mundane in my head sometimes, you know?  This is why ‘me as a blogger’ seems an awful stretch.

Anyway, so I’ve got AOL.  Yeah, you techie types just tell it walking, okay?  I have it and I’m keeping it.  Well, it’s got a buddy list that’s always on, and pretty much anyone who’s ever emailed me gets automatically added to my buddy list.

Who pops up on it about a half hour ago?  Yeah.  My dead brother-in-law.  Well, not HIM.  He’s dead.  But his screen name.

So I’m not all like “omg, Paul’s ALIVE!” which would be really fun in a soap opera kind of way, now that his wife has remarried (I say this hypothetically).  Nor am I thinking “it’s the ghost of Paul!”  Ghosts are, after all, Not Real, and the myths surrounding them rarely feature the undead reaching beyond their grave to check their email. 

But I am wondering who is still using his name and account, why they’re doing so, and if I should try to look into it.

I mean, that account was his personal one; he didn’t use it for business.  So who had access to his accounts and passwords, and who would still be checking/sending mail under his screen name?  And why would they still be doing that, after two years?  For the first few months, I can see going on-line, clearing away the spam and returning emails that the user is deceased.

But two years?

Okay, so we can rule out his wife.  First of all, she’s moved on and is really happy.  Those times are times she chooses not to think about.  I’ve known her since we were 14 – believe me, it wasn’t her.  Anyway, she’s at work, doesn’t have Internet access there, and isn’t the Internet type.

So who?  And why?

Random Wednesday

I like the word ‘random’ well enough, but my son really likes it.  This can get annoying.

A stomach virus that results in zero weight loss sucks.   Sadly, I refreshed my knowledge of this bitter realization this week.

Blogging isn’t writing.  It really, really isn’t.  So I’m grumpy that I’m supposed to do it.  I do, however, enjoy many other blogs.  So I will do my best here and try to play nicely.

I use Somme skin care products.  They are not quite as expensive as a crack cocaine habit, which is, admittedly, something of an odd justification.  I feel privileged and just a little self-indulgent every morning and night.

I’m tired all the time.  So much so, that I am tired of hearing myself say, “I’m tired.”  Megan Frampton knows of what I speak.

My dogs are shedding.  It’s a rainy, cool day, and my open windows let in a breeze that sends the hairballs blowing across my floors like so many tumbleweeds.  I must vacuum today.

Writing books is very hard work requiring dedication, commitment, and perseverance, but it does nothing to improve my butt or rid me of belly fat.  I find this to be summarily unfair.

My toenails are so cute.  I promise to post pictures of the more outstanding pedicures I have done.  What would that be – Tuesday’s Toes?

I love my bicycle.  I ride it every chance I get, to market, to the post, and to the bank.  I wish more people rode their bikes.  Not only would Al Gore approve, but the roads would be a lot friendlier.

I love men.  I love their hard, hairy legs and their wide, furred chests.  I like whiskers.  I like thick brows.  I am highly in favor of deep, smooth voices.  Big, square hands.  Strong backs.  The smell of sweat.  The scent of cologne.  French cuffs.  Work boots.  Stethoscopes and ladders and whiskey-scented kisses.  I love men.

I miss my grandparents.

I laugh easily.

My favorite time of day is the gloaming, partly because I love the word ‘gloaming.’

Kids are great.  So are dogs.

To make the best tea, always use fresh, cold water in the teapot.  Steep no longer than 5 minutes.

I try to live my life in a state of constant gratitude. 

When someone asks me my name, I always have to think about it for a second.  I think my consciousness does not have a name for itself.  I am Me.  We are all ‘Me’ to ourselves. 

Uninspired

 

This picture sums up the vast loneliness that blogging inspires in me.

To cheer myself up, I’m going to list five things that make me happy:

1. No one is reading this, so it is virtually (ha!) impossible to make a fool of myself.
2. We’re putting in a wine cellar, and it’s going to be spectacular.  
3. Progress on the new book is going very well.
4. I’m all finished with a bunch of commitments that were sucking too much time – I’m free!
5. When I’m finished the chapter I’m writing, I’m going to treat myself to painting a picture.

Okay, so I was reaching to find five, but I did it.

More later,

Tracy  

First Post

Hi!

Okay, so I’m supposed to have a blog.  Here it is.  Will report back later when I figure this thing out.