Doh!

looked for some guppies
all-wheel drive aquarium
used to be called "car"

Hey, so you know what works as a great rain gauge? The cupholders in your car. After you leave the sun roof open. All night long. While it rains. And rains. And rains.

Woo!

Hook ’em horns! Woo! OU sucks! Woo!

I’m too excited to write a haiku!

revelation

the wee one is pleased
not only does mom say "fart"
she can command them

So. My neck farts. This is a new and interesting development in my life. It seems that whenever I pitch my chin down to my chest, or turn my neck and dip my chin into that space above my clavicle, there’s a fart! I’m thinking this may be a good trick for Letterman. Or maybe it’s just a sign that I need to clean my neck.

such a dork

made it out of house
sans child, sans hubby, sans brain
bookstores are so cool

Tonight I went to a book launch! And I listened to the author read from her book. And I sat in the back row. And I got my copy of the book signed. And if this all sounds like ordinary stuff, I have to say that for me it was not. For some reason I have this thing – this public shyness thing. It’s really frustrating. I just kind of stand around and stare at me feet. Thank god for my friend Laura who came with me tonight. I would have never have gone alone.

But once I was there it was great fun. It was fun to put a writers face with her name. It’s always kind of weird to meet people in person that you already know from online. Because on some level you’re not really "meeting" for the first time, yet, if you had no face-to-face introduction you would never know who each other was. You know?

Anyway. The reading was fun. I’m pretty sure I acted like a moron, but I don’t get out of the house a lot, so even acting like a moron is fine with me if I get to do it sans child and past 8 o’clock at night.

You rock, Marrit. And so does your book.

inventions

just can’t correct him
he’s hilariously cute
not that I’m biased

The wee one has invented two new words/sayings, "forbout" and "learned it up". He also told me that "Simon Says" is a penis game. This worries me a bit. i don’t think he’s been playing Simon Says with child molesters, but I know for a fact he just saw Barney playing it on TV. So whatever subliminal crap Barney is poisoning my child with, I wish he would quit it.

Back to the inventions.

Yesterday at dinner the wee one wanted us to tell him a story "forbout" himself. I think that if he adds an apostrophe, he may have him self a new contraction. Ex: "The newspaper article for’bout the families of child geniuses is very entertaining."

Tonight at dinner is when he busted out with "learned it up". He was talking about about Simon Says, actually, and I was quizzing him on where he heard about the game, and who, in fact, told him it was played with genitals. He told me that no one taught him the game – he learned it up himself. And I guess that’s kind of a contraction too, in that he has obviously learned about Simon Says somewhere, and then made up extracurricular avenues of play.

I feel a little bit like blogging fits in with all of this somehow. This whole talking for’bout myself thing… I learn it up as I go along.

not writing

right now I not write
I sit in strange quietness
and think about stuff

Home.

It’s good to be here. The Hubby cleaned everything in my absence – including the Garage of Doom. I hardly recognize the place.

The Hubby has also taken the wee one to the neighborhood pool so I can have a few minutes to myself.

The hubby is apparently trying to "get on my good side" if you know what I mean.

So I’m sitting here in silence thinking that I’m glad to be home. I’m also thinking that I should be writing. Well, I am writing. But writing a book. Any book. I have two in progress, one at the printers (eeee!), one floating around editors’ offices, begging to be published, and several more just kind of jumping around in my head. Yet here I sit. I blog. I surf. I eat Snickers. I debate drinking a Coke and then decide not to because of my fear of it making my stomach hurt. This is what I do. Even with all this stuff in my head – all these ideas – all these things to work out; these characters to meet; these places to invent; these complicated plots to unravel… with ALL of this stuff in my head I still can’t just sit down and write.

You know what would be nice? An office. With a real chair that doesn’t hobble my ass. I kind of have an office. But the chair is made of what seems to be slightly padded concrete, and the air-conditioning has a hard time getting all the back to the room and therefore it is a very hot and stuffy place to enclose oneself in.

Oooh. Listen to the whining. I bet Meg Cabot (who writes something like eleventy million books a year) does not whine about things like this. I bet she has a waterproof laptop she uses in the shower because she cannot go longer than 5 minutes without writing a terribly witty paragraph.

There’s some author – who, of course, I can’t remember – who has a computer in every room of her house. This way, no matter where she is she can just drop everything, sit down, and work on her books. So here’s the question: does one have to become a rich author before one can have a computer in every room for writing, or does one need a computer in every room to become a successful author?

I’m asking the wrong questions, though, aren’t I? The real question is not about computers or chairs or waterproof laptops. The real question is why do I need to spend a half an hour writing a TERRIBLE blog post instead of being able to work on a book? It has to be better that I’ve written a terrible blog post instead of a terrible book. Yet… What am I afraid of?
Am I afraid?
Or just lazy?
I’m afraid of being lazy.
That’s it.

I need a Coke.