Away we go

Temperature: heading south because it's been c-c-c-cold up north

Eating: what the garden and greenhouse deign to give. They're kinda pissed the sun won't shine. As am I. As if it helps.

Drinking: would that help?

Watching: the World Cup! And it's turning out to be the surprising and exciting copa das copas the Brazilians hoped for.

Listening: to Chrissie Hynde's Stockholm

 

Reading: just finished Home by Toni Morrison. That book is a Tardis, so much bigger than its size! Next in line: The Goldfinch. Laugh all you want at my tardiness but when you read in more than one language you don't have a TBR list, you have TBR lists. So there. So shut up.

Writing: back and forth to settle something that's been up in the air for far too long. Hoping to return to good news, just in time for my birthday!

Feeling: my wanderlust about to be slaked. Be good, sweetie darlings, willingly good. I will see you soon. And if, for whatever reason, I never do, promise me you'll be a Tardis, always bigger than your size.

Last night a DJ saved my life

If you need me, I'm in

It's a kind of magic

I'm not really here. I'm in southern Sweden. And the 69 Shades blog. At the same time. Aren't I clever? 

You're not really here, either. You are rushing over there to get the skinny on my entourage and for that stretching break I promised.

Enjoy your exercise, sweetie darlings. I will see you soon.

Gone, baby, gone

Sorry, I'm not in. I'm out enjoying the high summer. Another hot one. Hot hot hot. Not that I mind. But I would like to invite global warming skeptics to come over and present their case to my face, which is melting, by the way.

Enjoy your July, dearest denizens!

Easy livin'

Unplugging for a long weekend with friends and family, The Weekend up here, a.k.a. Midsummer. See you next week, dearest denizens! Behave.

To Edward Murphy, thanks for everything, Dita Parker

Say you're putting your child to bed. Your bed, because he was feeling funny, and you felt sorry for the little guy, because you're his mom, and you love him to pieces, and you only want him to be comfortable and feel better.

Say you're finally ready to go to bed yourself after making sure everything is in order for the next day, and you're feeling a bit funny yourself because it's an important day, one you want to face sharp of dress and mind, you know?

Say you hear something that could be categorized funny if you didn't know what it is you're hearing, a series of serious coughing coming from your bedroom, and you know, you just know, that in five seconds you'll be knee-deep in the chili you cooked for dinner with dessert thrown in (read: up) for good measure.

Say that's what you're dealing with three past midnight and it will be three till one in the morning before the child is washed and clothed and calm enough to try to go back to sleep in his own bed, and your bed, well, you're thinking of burning it because how will you ever get it clean and smelling decent, and it will be two before you've done all you can so the whole house doesn't stink, and two thirty before you've set up camp in the living room and are calm enough to try to catch some sleep yourself, and three thirty before you start believing you'll never sleep again, and four o'clock in the morning when you realize you're totally and irrevocably fucked.

Oh well.

There isn't a thing I wouldn't do for my babies, and today...today's for you, sweetie darlings, so we could be together a little more, so let's hope that not everything that could go wrong necessarily heads in that direction, and wash your hands, and stop picking your noses, and if you don't know what it is, please don't put it in your mouth, okay? Okay. I think I smell coffee. I think I need it. I think it will be all right.

Quo vadis

"What does it mean?"
"Where are you going?"
"To the movies."
"What's playing?"
"Quo vadis."
"What does it mean?"
"Where are you going?"
"To the movies."
"What's playing?"
"Quo vadis."
"What does it mean?"
"Where are you going?"
"To the movies."
"What's playing?"

Muse on that, meritorious munchkins of mine, while I take time to make time for us. So we could be together. And we should be, should we not, because we go together like salt and vinegar, runny cheeses and robust wines, like Ardbeg and a splash of water.

Until then, sweetie darlings! Behave.

Big Time Sensuality

My Lovin' (You're Never Gonna Get It)

Post Modern Sleaze

I Love Rock 'n' Roll

Águas de Março

Moments of Pleasure

Nip/Tuck

What is this, the Dead Author Society (in reference to how the den has looked this week)? More like the half-dead author society, sweetie darlings. My babies gave me my first flu of the season, so I haven't written to you much this week. Well, neither have the Brontës. What's their excuse? Oh, the annual DASCon. Okay.

I gave myself a deadline; a story I wanted out of my hands by the end of the week. That's what I've been doing the past seven days, every moment I could spare; nipping and tucking, getting rid of the boring parts, breathing fire into the rest (at least that's what my throat feels like, as if I actually had), and drinking gallons of tea since coffee tastes like cigarettes when your whole head is congested.

You know what? It is done. That's what I wanted to report, but alas I can't since it isn't so I won't, but: I got close, very close, close enough to feel good about my progress. Am I going to send out a half-assed manuscript because by God I said by the end of the week I would? Of course not. When you're running a fever (and when you haven't had coffee for a week and may I please have this one addiction in addition to this awful, awful!, writing bug?!), you don't know your shit from your Shinola. And you only want to polish your stuff with one of them.

So, I won't be writing to you much until it's done, over with and out of my hands. I hope to celebrate it with a jumbo mug of café au lait from Brazilian beans I'll grind myself and sniff sniff sniff away in abandon, if I can. Ah, the small, simple pleasures. I wish you a week filled with them.

Hi and bye

Sorry, I'm not in. I'm off to Tallinn, Estonia.

Will be back on Wednesday, unless I get lost in the smog on my way to the ferry port. Russia is on fire and the smoke respects or observes no borders. How very rude and inconsiderate of it. 

Enjoy your brand new week, wherever you are.