In the past two weeks I’ve:

worked a lot
not slept so much
went to LA
did Conference-y things there
did NOT write
am STILL recovering (have I mentioned I’m an introvert? And there were a mooseload of people there?)
read a whole lot
considered–yes, actually considered–a re-read, since the Delightful Phone Friend has almost persuaded me. Then that opens up the whole other topic of WHAT to re-read. Right now it’s A Notorious Rake by Mary Balogh.
gotten increasingly excited for Game of Thrones on HBO.
Will likely post here again, when I can.
Now off to do something reasonable, like put laundry away (let me know when my work is done, okay? Thanks.)

Caught this in the spam queue:

Your articles can not be anymore entertaining as it really kept my eyes fixed to the page. You have remarkable talent and are fortunate to be born with such great gifts. Anticipating your next piece.

Because there was NO OTHER WAY someone would say that about me (Unless they came for the eye candy, which isn’t an article. So clearly not that).

But since I mentioned it:

I have successfully begun work on the synopsis. Not sure if I actually have something with this story (despite the 100+ pages–oy!), but at least I am into it.

A funny thing that I bet a lot of writers, particularly currently unpubbed ones have, is guilt over reading. Which is really, really dumb. And I have it.

I read a lot. A lot. I don’t watch much TV, I have a few spare minutes here and there, and I like reading; hence, I am usually plowing through some book or another. Yesterday, I finished two books, one was The Watchmen, which was too intense and 10 year-old intriguing to read often (he cannot WAIT to read it. And he must), and a paranormal that was a blast to go through.

And at the end of the day, I felt bad that I hadn’t written. Which, as stated before, is dumb. It’s not like the time I spent eating lunch and reading a book would have been able to be time spent writing–I eat in like 7 minutes, that’s barely enough time to open the document. Or when my son was doing homework, and I had to be in the room to make sure he didn’t meander off into doing something else. Couldn’t write then.

Still feel guilty. Stupid.

And here’s Richard in his ghastly shirt (for Kwana, who asked, and others who want to be horrified):

So my cousin has the whole first season of True Blood, which I’ve been watching each night after the Ten Year-Old goes to sleep. I’d only seen the first two episodes, so I have a lot of catching up to do.

Well, now I’m on episode 9, I think, and I’m already anticipating how sad and empty I’ll feel when I finish episode 12. What a goober! And how typical of me, to get bummed out about something that has been so much fun, but which, of course, has to end. Duh, Megan. Shut up and enjoy it!

In other news, I’ve been writing every day–yay! And the Spouse and I decided to go for iPhones for our new cell phone contract.

Me: And they said it had a map application, so I will never get lost again!
Him: Not never again–it’s not MAGIC.
Me: You’re such a dick.

Anyhoo, things are still good out here. The son is doing really well with sailing school, and is only going on some random tirade maybe once, twice a day.

So I have this problem that afflicts at least one other member of my family (hi, Jon!):

I have absolutely no sense of direction. None.

Not usually a problem, given that I’ve lived in the NYC area for over 25 years, and we take public transportation and walk rather than drive places. We do have a car now, but I go very specific places, and so seldom get lost.

But out here in Minnesota, it is up to me to retrieve/drop off my kid at sailing school. Which means driving around Lake Minnetonka and little villages with windy roads. Oy! I googled where I was going, followed the directions, I thought, and ended up almost completely lost.

Words can’t describe how utterly helpless and frustrating it feels to be so lost. It’s as though there’s a fog clouding the direction portion of my brain, and no matter how much I try, I cannot do it. Can. Not.

I did make it home, obviously, since I am talking to you here. But I think getting lost is going to happen again to me in the near future.

Sigh.

Megan

PS: I wrote today! Yay! Did not get too lost in the writing, at least.

You know what? Things have been hard lately, for a variety of reasons.

Reasons which kept me up last night, so I got up out of bed and went downstairs to make a huge cup of tea. ‘Cause nothing says solving problems like a hot, caffeinated beverage with milk and sugar.

Sat down in front of the TV. Of course, nothing to watch, because, hello, it was 3 in the morning. So I clicked on The Last Dragon, a movie I’d seen back in the ’80s heyday of Prince and his coterie.

And I am hoping that watching that, last night, at 3 in the morning, is the lowest I will ever go.
Cases in point:

1. The two leads each have only one name: Vanity and Taimak.
2. William H. Macy plays a sleazy promoter-type.
3. The “Shogun of Harlem” is named Sho’Nuff.
4. Debarge.
5. The full title of the film is “Berry Gordy’s The Last Dragon.”
6. I saw this movie IN THE THEATER when it came out.
7. The hero is obsessed with kung fu, and eats popcorn with chopsticks.
8. Vanity’s

shoulder pads are bigger than my head.
9. Oh, lord: A remake of the movie is currently in the works, with Samuel L. Jackson assuming the role of Sho’nuff.
10. It was 3 in the morning! I was watching a cheesy kung fu movie from the ’80s! With Prince’s ex (apparently, Prince originally wanted her name to be Vagina. Yeesh!)

I am, quite possibly, the most gullible person in the world. I could cite a dozen instances where someone has managed to convince me of the most ludicrous thing in the world, but I don’t need that kind of self-abasement here right now.

Which means April Fools’ Day is its own kind of hell. Everyone fools me, and I spend the whole day embarrassed.*

Case in point:

Me: I hate April Fools. Because I’m so gullible.
Him: Really? I love it, it’s my favorite day.
Me: [surprised] Really?
Him: No, I hate it.

See?

Megan

*As opposed, of course, to my normal mien. Sigh.

If you follow Boing Boing, you mighta seen their post about Baad Sheep, which sells ridiculously hideous sweaters online. Apparently they also host  “Baad Sheep Ugly Sweaters” parties, which would be awesome to attend if one lived in California. Which one does not.

Anyhoo, I was telling the Spouse about it, because he sometimes appreciates my taste for the godawful, and I told him about the Festive Collection, which has those themed holiday sweaters ladies of a certain age wear when going to the mall to get all ooey about Precious Moments figurines, or to pick up the BOGO sale at Bath&Body Works.

“Should we get matching sweaters for the holidays?”

My heart skipped a beat. “Dude, don’t tease me. You say the word, I’ll go to Kohl’s right now and order us some matching sweatshirts. I would love that.”

He laughs, and shakes his head, as much in dismay at my tacky bent as to say ‘no, are you kidding me, woman, it was a joke!’

Maybe someday. Someday when he’s lost more of his marbles and has to drive with his mouth open (notice sometime: All old men drive with their mouths open. Why is that?).

And no, ‘I’m With Stupid’ shirts don’t count.

The good thing about being so crazy busy you wonder if your head has spun off your neck is that you (and by you, I mean me) are too busy to be very anxious about this Saturday’s workshop (2:00pm, for those of you keeping track at home).

And, in other news, I am gearing up to write again. Break out the champagne (which, it was noted recently, I have a lot of).

Megan

I haven’t talked about it here lately, I’ve been too busy discussing fixtures, and paint, and boxes, and—zzzzzz.

Sorry, was that me?

Anyway, as always, I fret about my weight. And I do do something about it; I work out, I eat many, many whole-ish of grains, I try not to scarf down my son’s leftovers, blah, blah, blah.

BUT with all the house reno stuff, I haven’t been able to make it to the gym as frequently. And I find, if I skip more than one day, it is crazy hard to get myself to resume going. So much so, in fact, that I have an unwritten rule (as in, written inside my head, which is where you’ll find my rants against the Pythagorean Theorem and heroines who don’t ask simple questions before rushing into danger) that I have to go to the gym if I haven’t gone the day before. Except for now.

So tomorrow is Friday, my worst day of the week, and I haven’t been to the gym since Tuesday. And it’s supposed to rain, and I walk 13 blocks to get there. How do I get myself to go?

Having outed myself here, I will have to, or risk mockage (if not by you, then by my own outed self). But–any suggestions?