10:35 a.m. - 2008-07-03
Cheese & cash & stalker spirits
Astonishing but true, I'm getting fed up with words. I still love 'em, but wish they would all go silent for a few days. I read in my spare time, go to work and read and edit all day long, come home and write and read and edit. Now I find that I'm editing song lyrics and cereal boxes and tampon wrappers and road signs. I went to sleep last night composing rhymes in my head for the children's book I'm writing (in the midst of/as a break from writing a novel). Wake up and start thinking of the books. Dread the press releases I have to write, even as I structure them and come up with zingy email subject lines.

Meanwhile, my eyes are red, my sinuses blocked (still) and my brain feels more like scrambled eggs than electrified jelly.

Really need a vacation. I know I say this all the time, but I do. My sister is constantly jetting off somewhere. She's been to Miami, Philly, NYC and Vermont lately. She shares her kids with her ex and gets a few nights to herself each week. I'm jealous. I just need some quiet time.

DH is not happy about me going to my reunion, even though he encourages it. Old insecurities about me seeing ex-boyfriends. I'm going to go, even though I think every single day about being on an airplane and the what ifs of panic. Which I'm trying to override with counteractive thoughts.

Met my friend yesterday and pleased to note that I hugged her without getting flustered, didn't dream about her last night and seem to be over my subliminal crush. There are simply too many literary complications in my head to endure complications in the real world.

Next year, I intend to make my living by writing. No more day job. To go to NYC and Boston with the family as planned. To build time into my day for silence. To bring home the bacon: earn $100,000 after taxes. How will I accomplish this? I don't know, but everything that I have wanted seems to be coming into fruition, so I put this on the table and say "why not?"

Saw "In Bruges" last night and really liked it. I'm dying to write a gangster story.

So next year. I think I shall write a list of the things I'd like, A real list of concrete, attainable desires and work for them. Why not?

The economic world seems to be crumbling round our ears, and quickly, but there are always people who have and make money, so I will concentrate on being one of them.

I've always been a bit disdainful of money, and having it. Disparaging about those who want it. But now I want it. Really seriously want it. Want enough to be safe and well-cushioned, to provide for my kids and aging dad and not worry about having to work until I die. Want to pay off my house and travel and use the cash in proactive ways. How shall I make this happen? How will I amass my fortune? No idea. But I open the doors to it and say, "Come in, my darling, you are very welcome here. Stay, make yourself at home."

I got "Gus was a Friendly Ghost" in the mail yesterday. Read it to my son, wondered what precisely had me so captivated as a kid. Noticed that Gus has quite an interest in the lady of the house because she is so pretty and wondered if it was really about a dead stalker. Charming but not magical. The memory is, however. Anyway, we finished and he said, with a very shiny look on his face, that he wanted to make cheese croquettes sometime. That's the appeal of the whole book. Must be some magic inherent in the words "cheese croquettes". The Hamlin town baker could've lead all the children astray with trays of crispy hot cheese croquettes. I will have to make them and see what all the fuss is about.

3:19 p.m. - 2008-07-01
Spy vs. Spy
The Internet really satisfies a lot of my urges to peek in on others and see what they are up to. I love to Google people I know, check out their Linked In networks and Facebook pages. Not that I do anything with the info, just enjoy knowing how their particular story continued.

SO I just logged into my Website and from the stats I can see how many times my editor (or other book-folk) have looked at my Website. They are also Googling me. Fascinating! The stats give me the time of their visits, number of page views, search words (and who is this mystery person in Belgium that keeps looking me up? I don't know anyone in Belgium, do I?). So they look at it but have not said anything, so what are they thinking? If only there was a machine or program to record people's thoughts when they looked at certain pages. I'm very nosy, aren't I? Curious, more like. I just want to know what's going on.

I dreamed about the cheese croquette writer two nights ago. I went to some Midwestern elementary school where she was a teacher or librarian. She was a potato-ish lady with brown eyes and short brown hair. I thought she didn't look nearly old enough to be Jane Thayer and was disappointed in her dowdiness. I imagine her to be slim and small, a cigarette smoker with a chignon and chic 60s minidress and pointy little black heels. She writes at a small dainty desk in her Manhattan swank-pad and is very dismissive of her "little stories" though they really mean quite a lot to her. She has cool friends--men in skinny ties and suits--and her husband wears a smoking jacket. He's ugly in a Gallic way and everything he cooks involves an open flame-baked Alaska, creme brulee, fondue, crocque monsieur, etc.

9:20 a.m. - 2008-06-28
Waffles with ice cream
I am officially sick of reading my book. This must be the sixth go-round with the shears, snipping out bits of text, condensing my sentences, even removing characters. Now I'm just resigned to getting it done so that it can be off my desk and I can think about something else. I'm reluctant to admit that I am making it better, that I'd packed a lot of fluff into the cracks.

I really wish that I had more family here, better friends. I've resolved to upgrade my friends, though not sure how to accomplish this. I'd like to have friends who enjoy talking about current events, literature, will come over and eat goat cheese and blueberry salads and bring good wine.

I wish that I had the sort of close family where I could send my kids to grandma's for an overnight so that I could simply get a break. This weekend I'm hovering at the edge of burnout, nothing to do but edit the book, paint, clean, write press releases for my freelance client, cook for the kids, clean. Ugh. Can't we have fun?

My mother used to send me to her best friend's house for overnights. Now I'm not really clear on what was going on. Did she do this to have more time with my siblings, to get away from the burden of taking care of me, the sickly child? Did I wear her out? I had great visits with this friend. She was a bit younger than my mom, childless and divorced. She lived in a condo with her dog and she kept a Big Wheel at her house. The cool thing was to go and ride the Big Wheel alongside the canal when I spent the night (or weekend-jeez). She'd make me Strawberry Quik and Hawaiian Punch, which were huge treats. Was my mom unloading me? Did the friend take us because she liked us as people, or simply as a favor to my mom, because this seems to have been a lopsided arrangement as my mother could not reciprocate. Sometimes my brother went too, or more rarely, my sister.

There are a lot of weird gaps and questions about my childhood. My mom may have had a lot more going on than I have ever realized. Strange absences.

All my freaky shit is done and buried, I am a bastion of normalcy for my kids, I think. I find it excruciating sometimes, but then I look at how nice and happy they are and it bothers me less.

Sometimes I think about rooting around, looking into these relationships, contacting these people and asking them what was really going on, but to what purpose?

I've set an intention to double or triple my income as soon as possible. The whole intention thing still feels corny to me, but it does really help me to clarify what I'm doing and, more importantly, say no to things that don't fit.

My hs reunion is coming up in about 6 weeks. I can get airfare and hotel for about $500. DH is a little annoyed that I am going somewhere again. We went to NYC last year. However, he has zero initiative for vacation planning. I said all you have to do is think of something you want to do, price it and pay for it. I think he's one of those people who would have spent his whole life in his hometown if circumstances never forced him to leave it. But this is a one-time only thing. It will be just me for two days. Hardly the fun family vacation I envisioned. Not enough time for me to get sentimental. I'll be busy, have lots of people to see.

Now must get some money and buy the ticket so it is a done deal, and I can't waffle and back out.

10:11 a.m. - 2008-06-23
Avast mateys!
So sleepy today. We've been in the new house officially one week and it's grand. Still getting used to it, trying to solve the plumbing problems (have now paid $400 in insurance claim deductions and roto rooter fees) to clean a snarly mess of snake-weedy sea monster looking roots from our main line. The toilets had been backing up into the showers, the washing machine into the toilets. All is clear now and gurgling and draining as it should.

Blew up an inflatable kiddie pool and slide which the kids loved. Poor girl, she never had a yard to play in and this big 13 year old put on her bathing suit and played in the wading pool all Saturday afternoon with her little bro. They had a blast. DH and I said to each other, at least we got in here before she was too old to enjoy it.

The yard is a mess of fine, silty brown soil and dry weeds, which gets tracked in like mad. Everyone has black feet at the end of the day. Forgot that your feet get dirty when you have hardwood floors, rather than the carpet. We mopped twice but everyone still has to wash feet before bed and keep them off the couch. I'm hoping grass will help keep the dirt down and off our floors.

Cut and cut the book but its feels superficial, since I'm supposed to excise pages of text. Still some 80 pages to go. Where will it come from?

It's a swinging pendulum between irate madness and diligent trimming. Mostly the irrational side wins. This isn't very fun. Marketing already begun and I very bravely handed out my book promo card to a handsome counter-jockey, who was very young Sean Connery fetching.

Took LB to the park on Friday eve and played Pirates of the Caribbean. I kept forgetting who we were supposed to be and calling him Jack Black instead of Jack Sparrow, even tho' I know the difference. He corrected me a couple times but was so thrilled to play that he didn't really mind. Cap/n Jack Black is an excellent piratical moniker.

Must look busy.

11:32 a.m. - 2008-06-10
wage slave woes
I really should be working. I'm at my desk, surrounded, literally, by piles of folders, paper and binders which need to be addressed, sorted and handled. Early deadline this month is creating chaos, and I'm only part-time. Not enough time alloted into my schedule to take care of small stuff, so it just mounts. I keep having this urge to scream "I simply cannot do everything!" Maybe I should talk to my boss about increasing my hours. Better yet, get everything back to normal, stay home and write furiously, produce some winners and score a stay-at-home gig.

I have yet another cold, or perhaps it's just a reimergence of the same disease that has taken up residence in my sinuses. Kids have both been sick. The new house is not close to being ready, we've barely begun packing and I'm completely fried. Obligations heaping and spilling over the tops of my days into the days surrounding and creating a sludgy mess to move through slowly. Graduation tomorrow. Must buy beds, set up furniture. Get home for delivery, work late, go home and work.

Now it seems I will not be able to take the family on the week long vacation to my hometown in August simply because I can't afford to take the time off. I get zero PTO. No vacation, no sick days. It's making me crazy. I'm looking for a new job but can't invest in the search until the book is off my desk and I have some order in my life again.

I think that we will end up taking only the essentials to the new house, and stuffing the rest in storage to be slowly sorted throughout the year's remainder.

July will be quieter. I need silence. Stillness. The rising swirl of creation now tamped down.

And I have to say, I am still hurt and annoyed that I did not receive anything from my friends for our wedding. Not from my best friend here, who I've been close to for 8 years, or my bfs from high school, back in my hometown (I was one's maid of honor and gave her a gift from her registry and my grandmother's heirloom 20 piece porcelain tea set). My family, well, I know they are cheap. Still, I am really rankled by close relatives showing up to a wedding and not even buying a card. Yes, yes, I know, this is a repeat complaint. But it still bothers, me, poking me at odd hours, like when I'm brushing my teeth and I remember and grow snarly. Hurt feelings is all. I cannot imagine turning up to an important event empty-handed. Do they think it's not important? Not meaningful? Because (and I'm totally reading into it and going overboard) it feels like an invalidation. Of my family, my husband, my kids, my life. Like they are saying we only care about you, and not them, and even then, not very much.

But you can't complain, can you? You can't say anything without seeming incredibly petty and bitchy. I thought today to tell my daughter to make some traditional-minded friends who will throw her a bridal shower (not even the merest mention of drinks or anything) when she gets older.

Course, I could blow them all off. But then who suffers? Me, when I'm lonely and bored and looking like an ass. I KNOW that it is relatively unimportant. But I would just like people to retain some semblance of propriety.

Nothing from my mom's boyfriend who was in our lives for many years before her death and many years after. Not even a phone call. When people go the invitation and my letters/emails did they just think, oh that's nice and stick it in a drawer? I can't fathom it. Now I feel like ripping through my address book with a big black marker and screeching, "Fine! You are off the list!"

Not that anyone would care. I'm allowed to be petty in my diary, aren't I? Allowed to be a maniac, burning with rage at social slights, like some thwarted character in a Dickens novel?

I only had one friend who acknowledged my mother's death by sending flowers. I remember that and it's hugely important to me. Crap.

Wonder how long I will continue to nurse this grievance?

Of course, I have not and will not say anything. It's not the tangency of a gift, or money spent. It's the lack of a blessing. I would be happy if someone baked us a tray of muffins, or gathered a posy of wildflowers and presented them. Or sent an e-card. But the silence and nothingness speaks to me of uncaring. I'm so trifling!

The other day, some morning radio hosts were discussing what percent of themselves they kept private. 5%? 10% It wasn't much. I think I keep about 30%. There's a lot of self-censoring, a lot kept private, like ranting about my aunts coming empty-handed to the wedding, that is just too absurd to share, because it's small-minded and mean and not worth imposing on anyone else. Like not telling my friend that I have sex dreams about her, because, what would she do with it? Freak out.

All those things get filed away, or put into boxes or chucked out the window. I used to think they were important, but now, not so much. Pearls don't spill from my mouth so better to keep it shut and at least give the impression that I am sane and sensible.