First of all, self would just like to say that she is really, really sorry over the loss of Natasha Richardson, who was so excellent in the Patty Hearst movie, who could have gone the whole “Hollywood glam” route but instead chose her roles sparingly, cared for her family, and died Wednesday, much too young.
Now, then: Today is Friday, and instead of rain (which Ch. 7 weather person predicted would arrive today), the day is sweltering. Self spent the whole morning cocooned in her room, working (aka “writing”). Which makes this a good day.
Last night, self ordered pizza for dinner, using a coupon which had just arrived in the mail, for New York pizza on El Camino in San Carlos. In an hour, a large combination pizza was delivered, and it smelled heavenly. She’d barely taken the first bite when hubby walked in, unexpectedly early. Are the gods smiling on her or what? Who knew that he’d walk in so unexpectedly early and that self would be all ready with a hot pizza?
So, after hubby came home, there were the NCAA games to watch, and it was marginally exciting: self didn’t know any of the teams playing, and the only team she had any kind of vested interest in (Berkeley) was upset earlier in the day.
Anyhoo, yesterday was not a very good day, for self was so distracted at the thought of having to pay $145 to her dentist and having some cavities filled that she couldn’t think. Couldn’t write. Ended up going to Macy’s at the Stanford Shopping Center. Bought an Estee Lauder vibrating mascara wand (Self kids you not: the display on the Estee Lauder counter has that mascara wand twirling like a top: it’s supposedly wonderful at spreading mascara over one’s eyelashes!). As a “gift with purchase,” she received a pack said to be worth $75, but all it contained were: a miniscule moisturizer (SPF 15), a wee lipstick in some bronze-y coral shade, play mascara, and a tiny eyeshadow compact. Hmmph! Self went home, kicked herself and thought that she’d better STOP FOOLING AROUND or she’d end up in all kinds of trouble.
Then, she sat down, opened the latest NYTBR, and saw there the name of a person who she met at VCCA, who was said to have written a book in only the three weeks of residency. Much gnashing of teeth ensued. Much jealousy. Much pulling out of the hair. Fortunately, by the time hubby came home, all that was behind self. She had composed herself and was able to give a reasonable facsimile of an ambulatory wife.
This morning, she worked like a demon. The awful thing about working like a demon is: you can work your butt off and still no one will want to publish what you write. Such are the vagaries and insecurities of the writer’s life. That’s why self so much prefers spending time in her garden.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.