Things I should be doing instead of this:
Folding clean towels.
Packing for tomorrow. We’re not going anywhere but the soccer field and a birthday party and to the store to buy a bra, but yes, these trips require packing.
But I’m doing none of those things. I’m updating a blog nobody reads. A blog I’m reluctant to publicize. A space I’m weirdly considering my own. The internet, I know, belongs to everyone and no one, and should never, ever be considered private. I hesitated, just then, before writing the word “bra.” Too personal. But then I felt a bit rebellious. That’s my name up there. This is my second of data. I can write whatever word I want.
I’m writing a novel. I’m writing my third novel. You have no idea, or maybe you do, how depressing this is. I love the writing part, but the realizing part, I hate. The realizing that my two previous novels are never going to be published, not because the industry is in a slump but because they are not good enough. I’m not good enough. Maybe this next one will be good enough, but that’s not likely, and what will I do after that? Write another not-good-enough novel, I suppose. But it’s tiring.
Let’s talk about cupcakes for a minute to get our minds off depressing things like unpublished novels. Cupcakes are marvelous. I could eat them night or day. I eat the bottom part first, the boring part, so the rest of the bites are mostly frosting. I am a save-the-best-for-last kind of person, not an eat-dessert-first kind of person.
Goodnight, lovely nobodies. Play well.
It’s a good thing I woke up at four this morning, because the dishwasher I thought I’d started last night? I did not start last night. Had I woken up at 6:30 and discovered this, it would’ve been a tragedy. But now, no problem! Here I sit in my kitchen with the sound of swishing water for company.
Everyone else is asleep. As they should be, since it’s four in the morning. I’m working. Or I’m supposed to be working. But really I’m catching up on reading bits of things I haven’t had time for. Because this month, October, is kicking my ass. I’m not going to list specifics because that would make me sob, but let me just mention SOCCER and POPCORN FUNDRAISER and OPEN HOUSES and DEADLINES.
Here’s one good thing: our farm share ended this week. I love our farm share, I love our farm and our farmer, but once October rolls around I am ready to stop receiving glorious, healthy vegetables every week. It’s been eight days since we all sat down together for a meal, and do you know how hard it is to eat broccoli in the car on the way to a soccer game? Never mind the spaghetti squash.
A few minutes ago, instead of working I read this, and it made sense in a hopeless way. I haven’t kept in touch with most of my friends from days of yore and sometimes, when I’m overcome with the need to worry about the future, I focus on the pending time after my children have escaped the school system, which right now provides many of my real-time friends. Who will I know then, left to my own friend-making devices? I’d better never get divorced. I mean, there are other reasons for never getting divorced, but the potential for friendlessness is a driving factor.
I started I Capture the Castle last night. I shouldn’t have, because now that’s all I want to do. Read. Which is a noble pursuit, but see above: DEADLINES.
Something upstairs is stirring – dog? child? Certainly not the husband. The day might be beginning. Play well.