I'm going to have to ask two projects to forgive me. Or three? Perhaps four. The birds, sensing my failure during the throngs of my illness, are pissed. They're in a cupboard, they thought they'd become real. Poor pinnochio birds. Xander is sick now, too. So they'll have to wait.
Those Icelandic kids, too. They'll have to wait. Perhaps indefinitely, their blue-cast skin was making me envious.
And the one that keeps dancing a bit like Tinkerbell in her cage in the back of my head. Along with the haunting, sometimes overused advice (but is it overused?) "write what you know, write what you know" ... along with the longing, "Help people help people."
We'll see what happens. For now it's cooking up all the fresh things left over from the co-op before they turn. This sickness in both of us leaves me with guilt that I still silently peek back at the life as a stay at home mother...
But I do enjoy my job, it's a nice and lovely one. But there's nothing wrong with reading a favorite book again, so why not look back and read a favorite part of life again?
I want to write a letter with two words to Margaret Atwood. The two words being, "Thank you."
For some reason I had a Hello Kitty laptop bag as my purse. I do not own a laptop. Ah, the abandon of that time (and the constant nag of knowing I must return to work...the total joy of knowing that if Xander or I got sick...it would cause no strain on anyone but us. But that's a novel that's been written, read, and re-read. It's not the one I'm working on now. This post just needs to end. I'm reliving the part of housewivery that I forgot about - - no time to write without interruption. Stolen moments on the computer. Chatter chatter chatter. :)