On Wednesday I roasted Cornish game hens for dinner, and for the record I spent hardly any time at all stomping around the kitchen pretending I was a giant.
The car makes a fast left a couple of feet in front of me. I turn and get an eyeful of tail light, and take a moment to imagine the engine and drivetrain dropping straight down as the rest of the car slides forward on a trail of cartoon sparks.
It's a good thing I don't know how to wiggle my nose.
Twice this week Iíve woken up and been unsure about whether the numbers on my bedside clock referred to A.M. or P.M. (my tired brain couldn't associate the little dot with one or the other, and the dark Seattle sky was no help). This morning instead of waking up to typical NPR noises, I caught them in the middle of playing a long excerpt from Bruce Springsteenís "Glory Days" and I was unsure about whether it was 1984 or 2004.
Oh shit, I thought. Iím thirteen. Not again.
I actually had a pretty good day at work, mostly because I was so relieved it wasnít junior high.
Iím back from North Carolina, after a trip to Pennsylvania for my grandmotherís interment.
There are many things to say about this, but right now I'm physically and emotionally exhausted, and also preoccupied by the phrase "soft meat of the neck". I have A -- self-defense instructor and former hand double for Gillian Anderson on the X Files -- to thank for this, and for an excellent impromptu demonstration on how to make the most of the soft meat of an attacker's neck.
She gave me a coupon for three free lessons.
I'm going to North Carolina for my grandmother's funeral. I'll try to post something before the week is over.
I was going through my mail, and for a moment I thought the cover of my Local Voter's Pamphlet said, "Vocal Looter's Pamphlet".
This being Seattle, I didn't think much of it.
1) Come home from the office around 9:00 p.m.
2) Work out
3) Watch one more episode of the first season of The West Wing on DVD than is good for me
Also, at the encouragement of my dental hygienist, Iíve started flossing every night.
The party never stops.
E brought the fact that Spalding Gray is missing to my attention.
I keep thinking about Gray's bit at the dinner table in True Stories.
I really liked that part.
So catching up...
I owe something to just about everyone I know whose name starts with K.
K in Austin: I owe the hospitality and birthday gifts Iíve been meaning to send for ages. The gifts made their way to California, but this is not especially useful, as Austin is still in Texas.
K in New York: I owe a phone call, and a good long round of catching up.
K in Seattle: I owe a margarita and a game of dominoes.
K in various locales north of Seattle: I owe all kinds of treats to allay severe Condo Misfortune.
K, AKA Rhonda: I owe a public display of gratitude for transporting me to dinner on Thanksgiving and back again so I could spend most the day working on the novel.
And last but not least R (what is an "R" but a K in a jaunty little hat, yes?): I owe you an articulation of the all happy thoughts Iíve been thinking for you and J and Slugger. I hope allís well.
I went down to Southern California for Christmas, and I have a thing or two to say about the grocer's strike (yes, it's still going on), but Iím holding off a bit longer, because it deserves more time and attention than I have to offer now.
One of the things my brother gave me for Christmas was Word Freak. It was a fun read, but it gave me a mean craving to play Scrabble (okay, it actually gave me a mean craving to memorize word lists, master strategy, play in tournaments, and score me one a them expert ratings, but then I asked myself if wanted that more than I wanted to make my book publishable, and the answer was "no" - gotta stick to one time-consuming obsession at a time). I did indulge in a few games with E, though, and found myself tantalizingly close to breaking 400. The book inspired me to play less defensively, and concentrate on making seven-letter words for bonus points.
One of those seven-letter words was "leprosy". Another was "piscine". Ooh, baby.
I hadnít been sledding for more than twenty years when I went whooping down the hill at J & Wís place the weekend after New Yearís. It made me giddy, even the trudging back up the hill part. Endorphines good! Thanks, J & W.
Oh, I so wanted this to be the day I actually sat down to write a substantial explanation of my absence, but I picked hedonism instead.
Tomorrow there will be tales of sledding and leprosy and picket lines.