Earlier today, the site was not up, dunno what happened, except that earlier today I had both vim and vigor to do a post, while now? Now I am a big brain full of grumpy nerve endings.

Plus my pictures are on the other computer, and I was going for the big reveal today, the grandmother’s evening gown, but now I can’t, ’cause I’m on the laptop.

Feh.

And I am trying to write, but because my head hurts, I keep wanting to bludgeon my characters with a streetlamp or something. Not so  romantic.

AND (because I cannot leave well enough alone), I have heard enough spoilers for Breaking Dawn to not wish to read it, at least not for awhile.

AND and I mopped the ENTIRE downstairs and then my son decided he wanted to eat crackers. You do the math.

So, yeah, feh.

Still having a good  time at National, although I am experiencing “ebb” time (as in “ebb and flow”) right now, but I just have to fight through it and not let it overwhelm me.

I am getting my tattoo later on today, wondering if it’s the Stupidest Idea Ever, but then remembering that the time I wore gaucho pants was probably the S.I.E. This might be a close second, however.

So I’m a smart person, I know that, and I should be able to handle everyday life. Right? Right. Okay. So I have to register my dad’s car in NYC, and I’ve printed out a rainforest’s worth of paper from the DMV site, and I still don’t understand just what I have to do, and I just know I’m going to be in a long line and some bored, totally over it desk person is going to tell me I didn’t bring the right stuff. It’s giving me agita even now, thinking about it.

But the car’s registration–shhh!–is expired in Massachusetts, and I want to get NY tags for it, so we’re all done and proper. It’s the car my dad won, so even if it weren’t, like, A CAR! I would have to keep it.

The car still smells like Dad, his truck (which my uncle has) even moreso, I bet. And all his clocks were set 11 minutes fast, so I am keeping the car’s clock set to that time.

The only comfort I can take from all this anxiety is that Dad was even worse about paperwork and bureaucracy and the like. Have I ever mentioned my parents had some serious issues with filing taxes? Yeah. Like that. So I take after him in more ways than the crinkly, almond-shaped eyes, flat feet and love of words.

So the job foreman on our house reno, currently my favorite guy in the whole world, told me he hopes to be finished by the end of next week.

Which means . . . moving in.

Yikes. You mean–I gotta pack all this stuff up into manageable sizes and move it into a new house (new to me, at least), where I then have to unpack it?

Hoo boy. Bring on the wine. And the whine.

Any tips for packing, moving, keeping calm, etc.? All support is appreciated.

Will I have a massive headache until the day after I move? ‘Cause it’s showing no signs of relenting its grip on my brain.

I told the P-I-C, Kwana, that I would rather write another book than write a synopsis. And it’s true.

I realized that before I send out the three chapters of Road To Passion, I have to write a synopsis for it. I HATE them with a fervent passion usually reserved for A-Ha, Frankie Valli, mussels, Crocs, Uggs, toe socks, dog-eared pages and Tom Cruise.

Gak. The P-I-C says she wants it by tomorrow. This is why I love my friends.

Megan

I have one child. My choice, that’s fine.

We have one steady paycheck. Our choice, that’s fine, and we deal.

It doesn’t mean I CHOOSE to exchange with your kids (notice the plural), where you spend ten bucks on my kid’s toy and you tell me to get your kids gifts upwards of $15 each. Yes. I am cheap. But I am also very fair.

Grrr. Problem is, this is a good friend who will probably be affronted by my pointing this out. So I have to suck it up and buy the damn toys.

But I’m not happy about it.

I am being such a whiner lately.

Snap out of it!

I need someone to come over and kick me in the ass. So, barring that (and no, Goedi, please do not volunteer!), can you suggest a virtual kick in the ass?

Many thanks, dotcomrades.

“You can go running first, if you want.”

So for a variety of reasons I am having a hard time staying motivated to get back on the stick, or the keyboard, and start writing again. Which means things won’t happen, because I haven’t done it, but I don’t want to do it because things aren’t happening.
I have my mom-lit to revise the ending of–yet again–and I do not want to [cue me stomping my feet and tossing my hair. Never cute even on a four year-old, but on a 43-y.o.? Pas de tout.]
I have Road to Passion to finish. I like this story a lot, but I have to print it all out, which means dragging the laptop out and balancing it on my knees while I figure out which version is the right one and then sorting the pages and feeding the printer and–ugh.
I have a romantica short story I’d like to start, but of course the previous two projects have prior claim.
I have no time because Back-to-School means Back-to-Normal-Brooklyn life, which requires laundry, grocery shopping, etc. Plus miscellaneous running around, which always takes longer.
Feh.
What can possible inspire me?

Oh, all right then. I’ll get back to work.