I love kindergarten. Do you know, they take your child away on the bus first thing in the morning, teach her things all day? And she comes home all full of ideas and able to write out long words like COMPUDRS and LALEPAP and I WAT TO GO TO RIVRSID PRC and I LIK TO RED and she teaches her little sister to push in her chair after every meal. She is content and I am content and it is all pretty copacetic except that we all get up at 6:01 every morning (“and the news is next”) and this has caused me to sink even deeper into caffeine addiction, which just might be contributing to my present difficulty sleeping.
In five days I will leave for this insanely luxurious two week solitary writing retreat, and I feel so lucky about it I am convinced that tragedy will befall my loved ones in my absence. I have also spent a ridiculous amount of time amassing the proper spiral notebooks and bags of coffee beans and inspiring-but-not-too-intimidating reading material and what not. I can hardly picture it. Can you picture being alone for 14 days?
The other half of my big lucky writing year is I’m in this mentoring program where over 10 months I and 11 other “emerging writers” will be working with a series of mentors who are established writers and good teachers and it is all a little overwhelming although lucky lucky lucky and rich. So far, I have mostly been thrilled about emailing with the mentors and tracking down the various remarkable books they have suggested or commanded that we all read. And then there was one horrible meet-and-greet type potluck thing with all the participants plus the three mentors we’ll be working most closely with, and it felt for all the world like the effing first episode of “The Bachelor.” You know, everyone with their little gimmick and ‘wow’ line, vying for the first impression rose. I, what with my ridiculous face and inability to say even one single coherent sentence the entire evening, did not receive the first impression rose and it pushed all my school buttons pretty hard. This whole thing is going to be quite the experience in school buttons. Among other, better things. I am optimistic.
It has recently come to my attention that Certain People (helloooooo, neighbor!) have been reading this blog without announcing themselves! Without telling me! Even though we see each other often! Etc.! And it occurred to me that my online whereabouts and whoabouts may be easier to track down than I’d assumed. And this isn’t meant to be a secret blog, at least not since I’ve lost my shame about not always loving being a mama (unless you are my parents, about whose reading my writing I am still always a little squicky). So if you are here, and you know me, could you maybe just shoot me a little comment or email, or, hey, maybe just say it face to face next time you see me? I’m glad you’re here, I really am … I’d just like to know who you are. Besides, that way I won’t bore you with repeat stories in person. Probably.
Other than that, my largest problem right now is that my husband has embarked on a no-bar-soap campaign in order to avoid soap scum on the shower curtain. Soap scum! About which I have ruffled nary a brain fold. We are collectively against scary scoury-type cleaners, so we end up (ok, he ends up) doing this big dance with the shower curtain and a scrub brush and the washing machine every so often and ultimately replacing the thing. Blah. Blah blah. So the theory is that shower gel and such will meet our bodily cleaning needs without The Scum, only I find showering without a bar of soap deeply unsatisfying. Do you hear me? Deeply. Unsatisfying. Plus, I am leery about all the fragrances and moisturizers and such, and actually prefer to clean and moisturize in sequence rather than concurrently. I don’t know, do you have any ideas for me? Perhaps a loofah?
I’ve missed you, really. And just so you know, I’ve been reading your blog, too. Probably.