Yup. That’s my explanation for why I haven’t written anything since September. I didn’t know what it was until I read about it in the New York Times this morning. I thought I was overworked, exhausted, anxious, bummed about the economy, and/or working on my second book. Nope. I am delighted to learn that I am part of a philosophical movement of blogs that encourages people to slow down and do stuff like think. You betcha. There’s this one woman who lives in Vermont and takes her computer out into nature where she can record what snow looks like after deer have slept in it. That sounds so cool. No scraping frozen drizzle off the windshield for her! Slow blogging makes me feel like less of a flake. Maybe it’s OK that time passes, that an earring can gets lost when you’re outside doing lunch duty at school, that your teeth become sensitive because you’ve been clenching your teeth at night. Maybe that’s all OK. Just slow down and when you blog, blog deeply. Yeah. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

[Translate]

powered by

When I started the blog, (what, a week ago?) I had fun, felt free and a tad silly. Wondered what would come into my head next. At the moment, I’m experiencing a kind of existential congestion. Possibly self-consciousness. About people I know reading the blog. Creeping inhibition. OMG! What if a student read the one about the barking you-know-what! Fearful that my friends will think they have to read the books I talk about. NO, no, no, my lovelies! Those books were just banging around in my head, colliding with the typos. In a couple of cases I read the books so you won’t have to. Stop, now. Flee! Instead, I’ll entertain you with stories of showering with my dog, Aja, who rolled in something dead when we were in Evergreen visiting my brother. Maybe not. She’s nice and clean, now. Which is one good thing to say about a dog who curses at other dogs and barks at small, whiney children when I take her for a walk (euphemism for a pee and a dump) at the apartment complex where we live surrounded by other, better socialized dogs. They all hate us, I know. I’d hate us, too. Aja used to belong to my daughter, who rescued the cute little critter when she was little and cute. The dog, that is. Daughter is still cute. Aja? mmm…(you can’t see it, but I shrugged.) Then we (husband &) inherited the dog. Then I turned her into a fictional character, and now we’re stuck with her. Don’t have to exaggerate a whole lot, either. Anyway, I’m much more attached to Aja now that I’ve fictionalized her. Except when we encounter other dogs…

[Translate]

powered by

I’m running through preliminary edits, proofreading more like, of the first draft of my book (more on that later) just cracking up over typos. Snickering. Deja vu adolescence being far more fun than the dread “senior moment”. Take for example typing moth when you mean mouth. The sentence reads, “My moth felt dry.” I still giggle over that one. Or, “The corner of her moth twitched.” Irresistable image, right? How about speaking in a clam voice. You can spend a lot of time imagining what that might sound like. High and squeaky? A little racier is the substitution of dong for dog. Entirely innocent, I swear! Made that mistake a few times. Images of crazed you-know-whats running around the house. Or barking. See? You’re laughing. Yes, you are…

[Translate]

powered by