Answers to questions (almost) no one asked:
Q: Did you finish your NaNoWriMo novel?
A: No. Five chapters, 10,000 words. Not trilled that I didn't get it done, but I did write more than I have in years.
Q: Is Joel U. Q. T. Skimpole white? and is he in love with a black woman?
A: Yes, and yes. So what?
Q: Are they both over sixty?
A: Yes. Love doesn't end at forty. At least I had better hope not.
Q: Why are you so angry?
A: Walk a mile, my friend. It's hard being under forty, living in New York City, having mostly blonde hair and a job that makes rent. I have skin care concerns. I can't find my ass with both hands (despite its recently reported expansion). I haven't made out with anyone in... a really, really long time. Don't be so mean.
Q: Did you ever call MHH back?
A: No.
Q: Why not? He's part girl. It was all hot between you. See above, re: you never get laid. DUH!
A: He is married. I don't go there.
Q: Jib will make out with you. He is always available for consequence free nothingness. He would walk across town backwards to not have a real relationship with you.
A: True. But Jib wants a real girlfriend and I can't deliver. It's selfish of me to distract him from finding one.
Q: Prude!
A: *Yawn* Anything else?
Q: Did you ever start The Crazy?
A: Well... no. Elseways I would not be talking about getting wider all the time.
Q: How did that mammogram go? And can we see the films?
A: I considered posting them. They are, after all, textbook examples of uncooperativeness. Medical (and some other) people find them fascinating. And since Maggie posted her uterus films, I thought seriously about it. But I didn't because I thought the films, clinical as they are, might interfere with some unsuspecting person's chastity. For example, the person who keeps landing on my blog by typing "largebreast" (all one word) into Google. You here today, my friend?
Q: You are so full of it.
A: But that's not a question. It never was.
Q: Did you ever confront the house wife next door about her squeaking?
A: No. Instead, I have started sponging off their wireless connection as revenge. It's great. Whenever she squeaks at me, I sit quietly at my computer, all the while knowing that my high-speed internet is paid for by her husband. It's quite satisfying.
***** Here's the part where you are stunned speechless. I'll give you a moment to recover. ******
Q: How's your dissertation going?
A: *fingers in ears, eyes squinched shut* LALALALLLALALAALLALALALA. STOP TALKING ABOUT THAT.
Q: How's your dad?
A: *fingers in ears, eyes squinched shut* LALALALLLALALAALLALALALA. STOP TALKING ABOUT THAT.
Q: Have you started knitting mudflap girls yet?
A: Why, yes! Well, no. I have selected yarn and patterns for the targeted parties, but I won't permit myself to cast on the first stitch until the papers are graded. I don't want to add "unemployment" to my list of difficulties.
Q: Are you... off meds today?
A: Why, yes! Actually, I have been for quite some time. It took some doing, but I convinced Headologist Bootstraps that my needs are limited to 1) my life not sucking and 2) having enough xanax to avoid shredding someone at the airport ticket counter when my dad dies. She would very much like to give me the paper slippers at Bellevue, but I won that argument and got a scrip for xanax and we are all done with Don'tFuckUp and RainbowsyUnicorns (tm).
Q: HOW IS YOUR DAD?
A: UGH... ok. He is fine. Unexplicably feeling fabulous. Unaccountably alive.
Q: Why don't you sound happy about that?
A: I am. If I don't sound all "Praise Jesus!" about it, keep in mind that I've spent the better part of thirteen weeks fighting with my step mother, hemorrhaging money on leukemia related phone bills and plane tickets, and shredding my nervous system to bits every time he so much as sneezes. I am beyond wrung out. I am grateful he is alive, but if this is the new normal, I have not yet adjusted. I still hit the ceiling every time the phone rings. I still wake up every morning and check to see if it's still true and it is and then have to climb that hill all over again. So am I glad. YES. Him being alive is the only reason I am not in lock down right now. But it ain't like I don't have other problems. Can we stop talking about this now?
Yes? Thanks.
Well, perhaps not just yet. I started November by registering for both NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo. I was 100% certain that I would lose my dad in November and that having an overwhelming number of writing commitments would help me cope. If you had bet me $1,000,000,000 that my dad would be alive on November 30th, I would have made the bet and you would have won. While I did win the lottery this month, I don't have that kind of cash.
So no bets this month. We're going to take this thing one day at a time. I might post. I might not. If we make it to Christmas, I promise you this: a picture of the other half of my face. I can't tell you how much I don't want to do that but I will if we make it that far. Not that you care.* Just saying.
Oh, ok. Just one more drawing. It is called "Many Colors of Stars".
Thank you for reading. (And have a good weekend).
* You could fold the image image above in half and copy and get a very good idea of what I look like. Probably. Oh wait... don't do that. That makes me look like a dolphin.
4 comments:
Get to grading! I want my socks.
That's actually only a quarter of your face. But I'm sure the rest is just as lovely as this. Pretty eyes!
I wrote a little more than that, but not much. I still plan on finishing, though. I have an idea, and I want it to see fruition.
I post every day of the week already, so I don't understand the NaBloPoMoHoSno thing anyway.
Woodrow: I know, I know.
Em: Correct. But it does sound better to say "half" - and thank you for saying my eyes are pretty. I guess they are sometimes.
Avitable: Saying "I post every day of the week" is sort of like saying "I bench press 250 every day of the week" - you can do it with ease because you are used to it.
I am going to finish my novel, too. I even know how I am going to justify the absurd title. I have engineered an Eagle Rescue. It's going ot be awesome.
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