I must have sat here for a full 120 seconds staring at the title section trying to come up with something to put there. I don't have anything truly definite to write. It's just that it's been a while since I've written here and the other day I was talking with my friend Cindy and she said, "I'll have to read your blog...." and I was thinking, "Good Lord. I have nothing on there of merit to READ."
I find that I am in a bit of a strange predictament. I have loads of things I'd love to write about but I'm never in the right spot to write them down. And why is it that I can compose seemingly brilliant observations in my head, paragraphs of perfectly pleasing pontification on something extraordinarily interesting but then, when I go to write it down, everything scurries off into the corners of my brain ( The proverbial corners. Everyone knows brains don't have corners. ) and refuses to come out?
This Man-Cub is moving. He is fond of my bladder and the top of my cervix. He pummels away on them, with much vim and vigor and pays no attention whatsoever to my protests and jumping jacks to get him to stop. My sister, Erin, just last night showed me what she did when her babies did the same to her. "Like this," she said, "you've got to do this." She then proceeded to kneel down, place her cheek on the floor and then raised her derriere in the air and in a muffled voice said, "Then the baby will slide toward your front." I'll tell you it looked like a particularly odd yoga move or something one would do to alleviate gas. I'll try it soon, when no one is looking. It's not the most flattering position.
We are getting Zack's studio ready for the opening party tomorrow night. I am also getting ready for a long weekend as I am a part of Married Life Live again this year. I had forgotten how stressed out it makes me. When I'm singing my songs, I'm fine. It's when I'm having to learn and sing other's songs that I freak a little bit. I've never liked learning how to play things note by note. Plus, two whole days completely surrounded by people and being on stage leaves me in a zombie like state for a week. A wander around and stare at things without reason and eventually, four bubble baths, two books and five good sleeps later I have recovered. But I love working with Rachel and Danny and that is really the only reason I do it. I'm craving friendship, of which I have very little in the real life day to day form. It sucks.
I love flowers. Caleb, my oldest step-son asked me one day, "Why do you always have to buy flowers?" I said, "Well, flowers make a house a home. They make everything happier."
It's true. Even my modest little Alstromerias are doing their best to perk up my dining room.
I'm in a bit of a creative dry spell. This does not scare me as I have been through countless others, but I do wish it would hurry up and get over itself. My newest project, The Vitreous Humour, is still percolating in my heart and in my head but isn't pouring out yet, just letting out sweet aromas and I smell the air and think, "Soon. Soon I'll be able to drink out of this deeply."
There's a basket of laundry that has been mocking me since yesterday so I shall go attack it, put it into submission, show it who's boss.
Funny how once I start writing here, it starts to make more sense as I go along. Oh yes, my fingers seem to say, your thoughts and us, your fingers. We should get together more. I shall try to arrange more play dates for them. I always feel a bit better after.