Drive-by Blogging

My German had injections of some sort of something in both his knees today, so I’m short on time as I am dutifully tending to his every need.  (And he just snapped at me.  Can you believe that?  I mean, two needles in each knee, and he’s suddenly moody.)

Today at the dollar store (where I tried to keep my kid’s latest school project at under $10), some girl with a faded, ratty black hoodie, black-tipped acrylic nails, and a desperate need for lip waxing admired my jewelry and scarf.  As she is clearly possessed of some semblance of taste, why does she not apply it to herself?

These are questions for which there is no answer. 

Beautiful Boy

Today is my son’s birthday.  He’s 11.  Today is also the day I became a mother (something I swore I’d never become), and the day that we became a family.  Here are a few truths: 

My son has the kindest heart I’ve ever known.

He’s creative and intuitive and perceptive.  When he wants to be.  He’ll make a great man, because he’s also incredibly oblivious. 

I’m rather selfish about my son.  I wish I could change this.

I used to sing that song by John Lennon to my son when he was a baby.  I didn’t know all the words, but I’d rock him as he nursed, and I’d sing, over and again, “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.”

My son is beginning to care about what he wears and how his hair looks.

This year is probably my last to enjoy the boy he has been … soon he will be a teenager, and will begin to pull away.  This is good, normal, healthy  –  it is also so sad.  I will miss this boy forever.

He is smart.  Really smart.  (Smart-mouthed, too, and he cracks me up.)

I’m so grateful for this boy.

He loves Legos!

My son very much like me – very very simple, and very very complex.  I sometimes feel sorry for the woman he’ll marry.

No woman will be good enough for my son, no matter how great she is.  It isn’t about her.  And no, she won’t be the daughter I always wanted.

My son is FUN.

He loves math and science.

He is a picky, picky eater.

He’s a treat.

I love my son.

And now I’m going to go drink coffee, because I’m melancholy if I’m not caffeinated.

Veiled Obsessions

I am still painting.  I don’t want to talk about it.

BUT – I am so happy!  I found my book in a sonnet.

You see, for most books I write, I wind up with something (a poem, a song, a cd, or a phrase) that sums up the book and helps me keep it cohesive.  I have been floundering with this book, writing, working, researching, and moving forward, but floundering for the THING that makes it all come together in my mind.

Yesterday, whilst slacking on the couch, I found it.

Sonnet XVII, by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Sigh.  And so there is my book, people.  The fourth installment in the Splendor Amongst Shadows* series: VEILED OBSESSIONS. 

*The series is not titled this, but as this was the title I wanted for my first book, I have generally taken to calling it such in the privacy of my own cranium. 

Painting

Why do they call it Black Friday?  That sounds rather macabre, like a warning to not leave your house (every day is sort of like this for me, however, recluse that I aspire to become).

I had to laugh – the other day Oprah had her Favorite Things episode, which I had on in the bedroom as I put away my clothes, and the crowd was absolutely riotous – I mean, women were weeping.  She had them whipped up into a consumerist frenzy – and she was going on and on about how great this is, how that improved her life, how she can’t live without this or that, making all that frivolous STUFF seem necessary.

I turned to my German (who puts away his own laundry!) and commented that come January, Oprah will be having those shows all about people in debt, and will have guests on who suffer massive Retail Remorse some $50,000 later.  Anyway, you know she’ll be sitting there shaking her head, like she can’t believe that people just aren’t willing to live within their means.

The Debt Show will come right after the hoarder, and will preceed the woman whose self-worth is tied up in what she wears, drives, and possesses.

Television is funny. 

So, today my German and I are busy painting our Love Nest.  It’s going to be so pretty when it’s done.  I can’t hardly wait.  This also means I get to wear disgusting, paint splattered clothes and it’s perfectly acceptable, which I find to be kind of fun.  I could totally be on a job site right now and I’d fit in.  How cool would that be?  (Job sites have men in tool belts operating power tools.  Is there anything much better than that?)

Anyway, I like painting because while I’m working (and the German goes to the Home Depot for one more thing he forgot – and yes, I do think this is to leave me to do the blogging cutting in), I get to think about my book and all the crazy things that could happen.

So whilst the walls slowly turn from sage green to champagne gold, my characters are moving though my mind and the book grows and becomes its own thing, a living, breathing world separate from reality.  If that isn’t cool, I don’t know what is.  It’s the best buzz to be found in this gig.

And so, on that note, I shall be off to paint, and as the silence around me fills with voices that are not my own, I’m happy.

I hope you are all contenting yourself with something equally fulfilling, and not sacrificing too much of your selves to the retail gods. 

Have a great long weekend! 

I Am Alive

Dudes, I live.

Okay, so my house is messy (again), I’m behind in all my domestic chores not related to actual housework, my office needs serious straightening, and I’m still wearing sweats and my hair is in a headband (the last bastion of the truly ungroomed).

I will spend the next two hours cleaning up, will shower, and then will get my 2000 words.

Anyone else besides me noticing the trend?  If you astutely recognized that this is pretty much my daily routine, you are indeed an eagle-eyed observer.  Well done.

So my beautiful German is ailing.  Nothing serious, a cold, but he’s awfully grumpy about it this morning.  We spent the whole day together yesterday, and it was so nice.  He even went into Ulta with me!  I sprayed myself with Coco Chanel, and later in the day he kissed my neck and told me I smelled beautiful.  You guys, he’s so fabulous.

= “beautiful” to the German.  How can this NOT be my signature scent?

So I bought silly leopard print gloves from Target yesterday ($2.99), and they’re so fun.  Sometimes I can’t wait until I’m really old and I can toddle around swathed in leopard prints, red lipstick, and fabulous, fancy hats.  It’s going to be so fun.

By the way, the new book?  Really cool.

Oh, and I’m just so excited for the next few days – my son will be home with me!  I love having him about – I love the noises of him in the house, his voice, his humor.  He’s such a treat.  I can’t wait to bake pumpkin bread and cookies with him.  I also have some sort of Mohawk costume I’m to make for some class project, so the sewing machine will come out.  Project!

Well, I’m off to clean up and do laundry.  The only good thing about that?  My super cool Kenmore HE washer and dryer.  Everytime I do the wash, I feel so spoiled.  Not as spoiled as I would if I had a cleaning person and a laundry woman, but nonetheless.  One musn’t get too haughty.

Oh, and one more thing?  I painted my toes with chrome nail polish, and my feet are like adorable little disco balls.

Blergh

I feel precisely like crap. 

That is all, people.

TGIF

Seriously, you guys?  All week long I thought tomorrow was Friday.  It’s finally here.  Yay!

Why am I so jazzed for Friday, you might ask?  After all, I work from home, so one day pretty much looks like the rest, except for those cRaZy “S” days when the males in my family are home ALL day, wanting food and attention and Something To Do.

It doesn’t MAKE sense, people!  But it’s probably some deeply ingrained thing from years of school and work that’s just kind of hung on.  Anyway, at least on the “S” days I don’t have to wake to an alarm.

So anyway, when I was in the shower yesterday I figured out how many months I had left to finish my novel, and then how many weeks, and because my books generally run between 114,000 to 130,000 words, how many pages I need to complete each week.  Yeah, I know.  Math in the shower.  It’s nuts.

My point is (yeah, I have one!) that it’s totally doable, and I’ve been stressing for no good reason at all, and frankly, this book is going to RULE, so why am I so worried?

See, the sun is shining, the wind is blowing (and not in an ominous, Apocalypse way, but rather crisp and autumnal), and this morning I wore my new fuzzy pink gloves.  Speaking of which, have you all checked out this awesome site:  http://www.pinksuperstore.com?  It is so fun.  I want the pink microphone/radio for the shower.  Rock on!

There’s so much to be happy about.  Oh, and today my mom and step-dad are coming over for dinner, and I’m going to bake a cake – lemon raspberry.  I know it seems like a spring cake, but hey – Baby wants lemon, Baby bakes lemon.  I am not a slave to convention.

(If you are a particularly discriminating reader, you may have noted that this post is really nothing more than a stream of consciousness.)

Today’s thing to be extra grateful for?  My son.  Okay, so I’m going to set the stage for you, and then tell you what he said.  Mind, I am not generally prone to telling cute kid stories, as I am painfully aware of how rarely they translate.  However, this is a good one.

So yesterday I was super busy and never got around to lunch.  So at about 4:30 I’m really hungry, but don’t want to spoil dinner or consume too many calories.  However, I do have PMS, and was really wanting something crunchy, so I grabbed one of those little lunch packs of Cheetos (160 calories).  Now, I am pretty good about not eating too much junk, and honestly?  Most of the junk I eat is consumed with my coffee in the morning (don’t judge me).  My point?  My son rarely sees me consume such nonsense.

There I am, leaned against the counter in my kitchen, prying open a little bag of Cheetos.

My beautiful boy is breezing through, sees me, stops, and raises a brow.  With cool, dry humor, he says, “Let me guess.  Edna*?”

And then he swans out, without another word.

My kid is great.

On that note, people, I have to GO because in addition to my many tasks, this week is American Education Week, and I have to go into his school and “observe.”  Note that I left it until the very last minute, 2pm on Friday.  I hate going into the school.  Like, is it me, or is there the weirdest smell in those halls?

Okay, bye.

*Edna = PMS

Thursday Thirteen

I’m a Word Nerd, so today’s post is 13 of my favorite words.

1.  Quiescent  Being at rest; quiet; still; motionless

2.  Contumacious  Stubbornly perverse or rebellious; willfully disobedient. 

3.  Depredation  Plundered, pillaged, wasted.

4.  Limn  1. To represent in drawing or painting.  2. To outline; delineate.  3. To portray in words; describe.

5.  Lugubrious  Mournful or gloomy, especially in an affected, exaggerated, or unrelieved manner.

6.  Nullipara   A woman who has never borne a child.

7.  Defenestration  The act of throwing a person or thing out a window.

8.  Fubsy  1. Short and stout.  2. A chubby person.

9.  Eschew  (gesundheit!)  To abstain or keep away from; avoid; shun.

10.  Viscosity  1. The state or quality of being viscous 2. The property of a fluid that resists the force tending to cause the fluid to flow. 

11.  Attenuate  1. To weaken or reduce in force, intensity, effect, quantity, or value.  2. To make slender or fine.  3. To render less virulent, as a strain of pathogenic virus or bacterium.  4.  To reduce the amplitude of (an electric signal) without distortion.

12.  Harrumph  1. To clear the throat in a self-important way.  2. To express oneself gruffly.

13.  Persnickety  1. Excessively particular, fussy.  2. Requiring painstaking care  

Some of these are just fun to say.  I hope you all enjoyed the 13 – tune in next Thursday for a new one.  I shall offer you a tantalizing taste of what’s on tap: 13 People Who Have Never Been In My Kitchen.*

In other news, I wrote about 2500 words yesterday, most of which reads well this morning.  I’m pleased, of course, and am hoping to do just as well today.  Take that, Edna!

*if you know this reference, drop it in the comments.  I’ll be super impressed!

And so it goes…

The writing is kicking my butt.  Everything I write feels wrong.  I am still not sure of many things, and I’m overwhelmed.

I don’t make much money writing books – it’s negligible, really.  And days like this I wonder why I do it at all.  I fantasize about sending back my advance and confessing that I really can’t do this at all, you know.  I’m quite a fraud.

Then I’d get a job in some office, where I’d get to look nice everyday and wear heels and jewelry.  I’d answer the phone with crisp, detached efficiency.  I’d make Starbucks runs, and rush back.  I’d worry I’m not spending enough time with my son.  I’d have a telephone extension.  I’d stop at the market on my way home, tired, fussy, and harried, with homework, cleaning, and laundry all still ahead of me that night.  I’d treat myself to some pink Gerber daisys. 

I’d get a paycheck.  I’d have benefits.  I’d hate it.  I’d like it.  I’d drown.  I’d succeed.

But I’m not doing any of that today.  Today I’m going to plant my bottom in my chair and I’m going to work at the day job that people no longer tell me not to quit.  I’m going to roll the frigging dice one more time, and see what this gig has to offer.

This is the last book in my contract.  If these two don’t do well, that office job looms like a threat and a promise combined.  This is my last shot.  No pressure, or anything.  Don’t fret – it’s only my life’s dream on the line, after all.  The fact that today feels gray and devoid of talent or direction or even a smidgen of inspiration shouldn’t trouble me.

Whoa – like, am I totally bumming, or what?  Okay.  I need a better attitude, because this present one sucks.  Apparently Edna is holding a gun to my uterus and demanding depression.  So, listen, you guys.  I’m not giving in to her vicious, insane demands (well, I might give into her demands for sweet tea and gingerbread graham crackers – I’m only human, after all). 

For now, I’m a writer.  I mean, I’m clinging to that ledge with four fingernails, but I’m hanging.  Hanging in is good.  I’m going to go get to work, and make stuff up. 

And in addition to all of that…

I have PMS, a nasty bitch I refer to as Edna.  Edna embodies all that is evil.  She is the jiggling, fatty flesh that I didn’t have yesterday.  She is a pain in my breasts (PIMB), and she has no sense of humor about exercise or salad.  She hates clothes that zip.  She loves flannel pjs. 

Edna sucks.  We hate Edna, don’t we girls?  We’d like to kill her, but sadly, this involves either pregnancy or menopause, which just makes us want to kill ourselves.

So today Edna made me eat cheetos and peanut butter M&M’s after lunch, and whereas before I felt only slightly fat, I now feel horrifically fat and incredibly guilty.

Oh, PMS, you so cRaZy.

By the bye, this was just a drive-by confession.  I now return to my writing.  I’ve got 700 words done.