A pot of fresh chamomile tea and a day in my comfiest sweats and I feel a bit more level, well a bit more like myself anyway.
Today I caught up on all my favorite blogs. Some I check daily, but with most it’s hit or miss. Many of these are blogs written by other writers, some published, some not. And it seems to me that angst is just a part of any writer’s life. You see, as I was reading said blogs, (One of them about angst, by the way) I happened upon a comment I made a few days back. The author of the blog had responded to it, as she often does, in a friendly manner but I was horrified because of a huge grammatical error in my comment. Instant angst. What is she going to think?!?
If you read this blog at all, or if I’ve commented on yours, I’m sure you’ve noticed I don’t spend a lot of time on punctuation or grammar. It was a conscious decision made because I didn’t want to edit my stream of consciousness babble. But that huge grammatical error got me thinking. I am trying to break into the world of writing and all anyone sees of it, of me, is this. My blog, my comments. They represent me. And so the angst. You see, I’m fully aware of the incomplete sentences preceding this one. They were used because that is the way my mind works, and whether, or not, they are used effectively, I will leave up to you. Of course this is a very small source of the general angst with which a writer must deal. (How’s that for not ending a sentence in a preposition?) But right now, I can handle the little angst, it’s the big ones that will keep me up at night and I won’t go there.
I thought it might be a good time to drift from the writing world into some of the funny things that happen around here. Funny to me anyway, I’ll let you decide.
1. Today as I rounded the curve from the kitchen into the living room where D4 was playing, she looked up and said, “Oh, it’s you.” I asked her who she thought it was (we were alone) She looked thoughtful said, “Well, it could be a monster or a pig or you.” … I’d love to know how a 3 year old’s brain works.
2. OB hates changing clothes in the winter and getting him to take a bath, well, I have to stand at the door to make sure he gets in the water. The other morning, he shows up for breakfast in the shirt I knew he’d worn the day before and slept in (yes, he put it back on after his bath) Without saying a word, I went into his closet, grabbed and new undershirt, a long sleeved shirt and handed them to him saying, “Put them on.” Well, he comes out of his room 15 minutes later, just as he has to leave for school. I note that he does indeed have the new shirt and undershirt on, and then when he reaches up to let me kiss him on the top of the head, I notice he’s put the two new shirts on over the two dirty shirts. Yup, 4 shirts. I probably sounded like porky pig. But I let him go to school that way. I don’t know how an 11 year old boy’s mind works either
3. Today my sister came over to watch D4 so I could work for a bit (and to do her laundry) A half hour into it she walked into my room and sat down on my bed and said. “I know, I’m sorry.” (standard reply to the evil look I was giving her about disrupting my muse) She continued, “I was playing with (D4) and she was naming her animals. She named the first one Dora, the second one Arthur and the third one Dirt.” My sister started giggling and said, “I asked her, “Dirt as in dirty?” And D4 said, “Yeah, but just Dirt.”
Dirt the cat… go figure.
Did I ever tell you our cat’s name is Meow? But that’s another story for another time.