11:21 p.m. - 2008-08-30
Having a hack-attack.
Is it possible that people who think they are clever and for whom everything makes sense just seem muddled to others? Or that people who think they are really smart are actually living in this tiny bubble of absurdity, while everyone else blunders along in a fog?

This is exactly what I'm talking about. I'm making perfect sense to myself, to you, maybe not so much.

This whole writing gig, maybe I give it too much credence. Think it too weighty. God, why couldn't I have just become a plumber or something?

Clearly I'm too much in love with the sound of my own voice, my own words. But then again, would any of us be here, writing in D-land, if we didn't relish our own prattle and want others to admire it too?

Today I feel like a hack. A monkey at a keyboard. I need a mentor. DH says my stuff is way deep, too complex for him. He thinks I'm a genius, but he also loves me and knows that's what I want to hear. Still, am I really to change my entire manner of speaking? Because I am in the habit of dumbing down and really did think this was an opportunity for me to shine. I write like a Victorian, but that era is long-over. I live in a nation that produces television shows about people jumping through holes in walls, fer cripes sake.

I'm totally divided, unsure whether my sense of artistic integrity is really obstinacy and idiocy or some divine sense of profound vision and self-certainty. Where is the line between brilliance and foolishness? Am I a pompous windbag or a misunderstood artist? Gah!

Today I realized that LB's baby face is gone. I haven't seen a particular, very darling, expression in a long time.

I am desperate to find a new job but have no idea how I'd cope with a FT schedule and eveything else. I'm just freaking out about money. My freelance work is drying up and I barely bring home enough to cover my half of the bills. Still, must trust that things will work out okay, yeah?

12:51 p.m. - 2008-08-28
Plumbing superhero
On with the plumbing saga! I did well, thank you very much. Snaked the hell out of that drain, flushed it from two sinks and watch our house puke up buckets of stinking black slime, plus a bit of spinach. Black mildew and whatever else it was had been building up for ages, the pipes would've clogged eventually anyway. It was truly foul, the smell and greasy black tide that poured from our clean out. I dumped it down the toilet and spent about two hours doing this until it got dark and I had to go inside. Sink was still a bit backed up but I went to bed, resolved to call a plumber in the morn and when I woke up the drains were clear and all is well.

Hooray me with my grotty hands!

This weekend's travel plans were canceled, probably for the better as I got my ms and have to re-edit for the umpteenth time and send back next week.
I think I'm going to have to get loaded to get through this whole process. Perhaps I'm naive having skipped over the hazing rituals of creative writing grad school. All I know is this is like getting poked with hot forks. Should I really be so precious about it, so proprietary about each little string of words? Even when it seems that the best bits end up stripped?
There an enormous debate waging in my head with one voice decrying the death of art and blasting trends towards sublimation of the original voice to pump out homogenized marketable pieces, the other voice is shrieking, "Shut up you ass! This is what you wanted! Don't be such a gd pussy!' As you can tell, much abuse is hurled and everyone, me included, gets hit with the slander-stick. It's like jumping into a sailor's brawl.

Career transition, right? Just a job, she intones, it's just a job. Don't get yourself fired for trying to tell the boss what to do.

I am beginning to miss the days when I could come home and get stoned. But if I didn't have to pull it together every day and fix dinner and help with homework etc, my life would probably be pretty appalling.

2:45 p.m. - 2008-08-25
It's that time again
Nearly 3 pm and I've got two hours to go. The office is empty, I've got my cup of chai (so no excuse to get out for a bit). Afternoon breaks calls for periods of protracted window-gazing, watching the clouds and planes go by.

I've been lamenting the fact that I do not have an interesting blog about a topic outside of myself (mine's about writing & books, general enough, but also my writing process and other stuff). The ones that I read regularly are about clever art projects, and either admiring or poking fun of other people's homes/fashions etc.

So, added to the project list (along with this morning's ambition to become a technical writer, because I always see those jobs listed) is to come up with a blog idea. THe only thing I can think of is taking photos of attractive women (well, duh) by which I mean ordinary women onthe street who have that unique je ne sais quois about them, a crooked front tooth in a gamine face, pointy ears, or some odd yet arresting feature, or snaps of people doing odd things.

For example, I recently passed a pair on the street and wished to take their photo--a homeless man, black with very dark skin, dressed all in black, tall and thin, wandering down the sidewalk, visibly immersed in his interior world, just behind him, a tall, thin, pale white woman, dressed all in white with white hair, with a vague smile of her face. They were polar opposites in every sense, yet wore similar expressions.

But this would require me actually carrying a camera and asking people if I could take their picture, and once they are aware of being watched, everything changes. I wouldn't want to take a photo and then ask if I can use it. It would just be weird. And to what end? How do popular bloggers build a following, use their blogs to get gigs? Flummoxed.

Books proceeds in wild directions every time I sit down. It actually gives me a weird sort of headache, like having split-screen vision.

The other day I was talking to LB and he said "you know I'm not dead because you can hear my voice." ???

Last night I stuffed wads of leftovers into our garbage disposal. This very soft little voice murmured "you are not supposed to do that" which was nearly drowned out by a much louder voice saying 'blather blather.' Symptomatic of thinking about book constantly because I've so little time to actually focus on it. Of course, the sink flooded and wads of spinach backed out of the washer sink and spilled across the garage floor and out into the driveway. DH was very forgiving, though I did detect that askance "please don't go completely nuts yet" look. Now I look forward to an evening of deep snaking, much less arousing than it sounds.

12:08 p.m. - 2008-08-19
witless wonder
I have a press invite for an all-expenses paid vacation to a Caribbean resort sitting on my desk. My boss is not quite understanding that this means a FREE vacation for my poor, underpaid and overworked family. I do not have the cojones to boldy announce that I really want to go and will happily write a short article about it in exchange for a FREE TRIP TO TURKS & CAICOS. Blargh, blather, curse me and my Victorian modesty and shrinking violet ways. So it's an ad! Our magazine is full of ads, what's one more?

Wish I could be one of those pithy, amusing bloggers who fills D-land pages with thoughtful observations, hilarious recountings of children's misdeeds or wry commentary on life int eh big city, but sadly, this is my actual diary-diary. I write here only to preserve some record of things happening in my life, otherwise, it would be a blank page for me and my shoddy memory.

9:25 a.m. - 2008-08-16
There! You see?
Anyway, the rest of my reunion trip was quite lovely. Best part was really hanging out with my old friends, with whom it seems no time has passed and having that immediate comfort of picking up where we left off.

I suppose I've had a week to process it now so no longer feel like I need to rehash it. I do hate the way yesterday so quickly recedes and turns into last week, last month, last year. It's so hard to hold onto feelings, experiences.

LB and I went to his school's overnight campout last night. They've been doing this for nearly 10 years. I took my daughter when she was his age, weird to feel myself looped over on the same track of history, repeating events with different people. We slept in our newish tent, which wonderfully, does not reek of mildew like the old one.

Had pancake breakfast and packed up and went home. Tomorrow we go to LA to visit family, back to work on Monday. I have to look for either a new job or supplementary income. It was okay surviving on $2200 a month (my income) in the apartment when my half of the rent was only $760, but now that our mortgage payment is $1130, it's a shift.
I'm so bloody sick of being a scrounger, always telling the kids we can't afford to do things or take trips or having to delay necessary things like braces/doctor visits etc. Not to anyone's detriment, obviously, we do take care of things when necessary, but there's no wiggle room, no cushion.

3:29 p.m. - 2008-08-13
settled down
OK, I've calmed down now. Really, I do fly into a right tizzy when I get annoyed.

Talked to a few folks who counseled, just grin and bear it, which did not help, and another who said fight if its justified and here's what you do to create a better relationship. Much more helpful. Love her and not just because she makes me feel less nuts.

I've been meaning to write about the rest of my trip so I don't forget but haven't had time yet.

deep breaths, eh?

10:55 a.m. - 2008-08-11
Nostaligia overload, pt. 1
Back to real life today, morning routine of tea and coffee shop bagel with egg & swiss, little man at school, heaps of mail and packages to open. Disappointing amount of email but then again, I've only been gone three days, though it feels like a time-warp, a very long stretchy week in another dimension.

SO good to come home, walk out from the gate to see my very own handsome husband waiting for me with a smile. LB was waiting at the door when we drove up and came running into the driveway in his pajamas for hugs and kisses. Being away from my family reminded me how comforting it is to have a place to go, people who will welcome me with affection and listen to my stories.

Where to begin? I wish I was one of those folks who could post vacation photos of friends and neat things seen, but I only took one photo not of my friends, and that was a charming, sort of haphazard front garden that I admired.

Friday: nearly bailed on plane ride after flash of blinding panic about boarding (literally, I see spots). Paused mid-aisle but forced myself on, ride went just fine. Got to Denver, a hot muggy overcast day. Checked in at nice hotel, the kind I like, with clean white sheets over & under a clean white duvet, so you don't have to lie on creepy felt blankets and ugly quilted bedspreads that fat guys have fucked on.

Saw Pineapple Express by myself and really enjoyed it, though was a bit disturbed by hired thug Matheson's extra-grizzly death. I love seeing movies alone, those are the only ones I end up remembering, so much easier to immerse myself in the story when there's no one else to interact with.

Had chocolate cheesecake and sangria with my best buddy old pal o' mine from 1989-91. We had some truly raucous summers, drinking and getting stoned, hanging out in the park at night being fools, running with our gay-boy gang, highly-hilarious snarky fun.

Next went to reunion cocktail with bf from high school (one of several, you know how it goes, bffs=serial monogamy). Drank a pint of Newcastle and saw a few familiar faces. Sudden thundering downpour caught everyone off guard but it was lovely to see all that water streaming down the gutters, lightning flashing against the distant tower of the Tivoli brewery.

9:51 a.m. - 2008-08-04
veddy veddy dull indeed
Stayed up till 2 a.m. last night watching Californication, which I absolutely loved. Must confess that I too would like to be a celebrated writer who gets into saucy trouble, flaunts social mores and behaves inappropriately. Maybe someday when I'm grown.

Did manage to buckle down this weekend and write about 15 or so pages. A drip in a very large bucket, I tell you.

Managed some weeding, painting and general household tasks. Planted one hydrangea, of three bought for the wedding. Kids didn't do much-we went to the park and saw Wal-E which was really good, but I still get riled every time I think that the film takes place 700 years in the future and the captain is white. Lest I be accused of reverse racism here, let me point out that there were no other non-white people in the film, excepting a few prominently placed black folks in the background. No Asians, or Latinos or anyone else. That's it. While it's perfectly plausible and reasonable to think that a spaceship captain in 2708 would be white, it's the assumption that the guy in charge will still be a member of the old boys club that bothers me. And that the captain will be a man! Harumph.

Course, it could play like a Law & Order spin-off, where nearly every power position is played by a minority. I did read somewhere recently that there are more black female judges on the all Law & Order shows combined than there are in real life in the US.

Bad family news last week, I'm waiting to see what happens. Think I'm entering the era of decline, where I will watch my old aunties sicken and die over the next decade or so, and health problems manifest in siblings, parents etc. Worrisome but it's inevitable, isn't it?

What a glum posting! Wish I had funny stories about my kids or shopping or concerts or career coups or interesting people to relate but absolutely nothing of interest happens in my life. Sorry.

9:54 p.m. - 2008-07-27
muddle-brain
Today I am channeling Raggedy Ann and Winnie the Pooh and any other characters with fluff for brains.

Wrote 8 pages of novel Friday, between being very distracted and tired and running errands. Lately, when I sit down to work, I'm feeling incredibly fractured and ditzy and not at all up to snuff. The whole story is worked out, so I should just be steaming along, but really I come to my computer and sit and stare, and kvetch about my aching back and if my varicose veins are getting worse and feeling antsy and spacey and completely unproductive. Perhaps the problem is that I am so sick of sitting at computers I can't do anything but whinge about it.

My daughter is back from her trip and roaming at night, making a lot of noise and, as I have my desk in the living room, I'm incredibly sensitive to people coming up behind me to read over my shoulder and being interrupted with questions. Really need a room where I can go and close the door.

I really need a comfortable effing chair that doesn't make my back ache and me cringe at the thought of sitting in it. Why is it so damn difficult to get a decent chair?

Maybe these are all just excuses to avoid writing, which is absurd because now I have a chance to do everything I've ever wanted and I have this glorious career envisioned. Just must get there. Here she comes again. Gah.

Have to resort to old tricks. Stay away from PC and use pokey little unlit word processor and force myself into that space.

Too many notes that I'm trying to string together. Ideas floating all over the place. Am I feeling smug? No, I'm panicking. Must have this book done in four months. Puking at the idea of self-sabotage with cruddy writing and laziness.

Is it laziness? I'm really, really tired. Tired in a worrisome sort of way. Maybe going home for three days will fix me. I wish it was spring so that I could see all the bearded irises in bloom. I will take a morning just to walk in my favorite park. I'll see my old friends who will infuse my spirit with love and cheer and silliness. I'll feel better, I'll feel alienated.

I am desperate to quit my job. Have thought that maybe there are writing grants available because I am about to fall apart with the routine idiocy of going back and forth to work, coming home to work again for client and then trying to write a flipping novel. Petty problems, I know.

9:37 a.m. - 2008-07-14
Only three days
Three day weekend and it felt like an eternity (in a good way) now that I'm back at my desk. My daughter is visiting relatives for two weeks and the house is quiet and calm. She is a tempest in a teapot that girl, happy or sad, her energy bubbles up and spills over and fills the room.

LB and I saw Journey to the Center of the Earth, which was surprisingly entertaining, went to Legoland and took our sweet time getting through it. LB is not a thrill seeker so I didn't have to endure lots of rides. He was brave enough to go into the big kids' water park and get completely soaked. I did too. I let him go into this play structure with water guns squirting in every direction, a massive bucket dumping 300 gallons of water, sprinklers and sprayers and soakers shooting out jets of a cloudy, recycled water that I know the kids were peeing in (especially after hearing two moms-'she just had an accident' "she peed?' "Yes, she peed in that puddle' 'oh well'). I lost sight of my small 4 year old boy who cannot swim and watched him wander up under the big bucket and raced in to get him. He came out smiling though, which was a big step up.

Didn't really work on anything, put off work for my client which I continue to feel guilty about. Urgh. Painted the bathroom with two coats of 'misty violet.' DH likes it but did agree that it was very girly. It he relaxes his decorating vigilance anymore he will wake up one day to discover he is living in a pink house.

I heard today that Anheuser-Busch sold to a Belgian company. This amid reports of America's infrastructure being on the auction block, our city contracts for sale to private foreign companies. What?
America will sell itself part and parcel to other countries then wonder in a few years, why we have no solidarity or economic control over our our institutions. What do I know? Maybe 'foreigners' will run things better than we have.

I watched the mildy diverting Fool's Gold (desperation at the video store when waiting till Friday night to rent) and the surprisingly good PS I Love You.
I lamented my decline in proper cinematic viewing, that I never go to foreign/indie films anymore which used to be my joy, but saturate myself in schmaltz and tawdry Hollywood blockbusters simply because I need a way to turn off my brain for a few hours.

Must get back to writing but all I want to do is sleep.

My latest worry is about being pegged a sci-fi writer. I confess to harboring a snotty disdain for Trekkies and Star Wars maniacs and that particular sort of person who wants to attend conventions garbed in interplanetary gear. Shudder. I like fantasy, but again, would not want to get stuck in the genre.

Still planning to fly home to Denver for HS reunion,. Why? I suddenly remembered that I didn't have many friends in my class after sophomore year. I took classes at a magnet school across town, worked part-time (I got out of school before noon senior year) and was friends with some people from the restaurant. My other friends were in grades above and one in the grade below me. I'm sure it will be fine and I'll have fun. My editor from NYC will be in town for a convention and hopefully I'll get to meet her.

It's only three days.

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.