Well, I haven't posted in a couple weeks. I've been feeling rather brained by the heat we've been having. My handy Apple Dashboard Widget says that it is currently 95 degrees in Long Beach right now, down from a high of 97.
My other excuse is that I'm pregnant. Surprise!
The following are the answers to the questions everyone keeps asking me:
Due in the latter half of March.
We'll be happy with a boy or girl, but I find myself wanting a girl a little more.
Yes, the husband is quite pleased with himself.
I am about five weeks along, brain cells malfunctioning more and more- although that may be from quitting smoking and caffeine (my two most favorite vices) and drinking.
Yes, it is 95 degrees and not even a Red Stripe to console me. Even my very first rejection letter can't make me that upset, though....
22 July, 2006
05 July, 2006
Happy 4th...
I guess. Woo hoo freedom. Drunk drivers and illicit (in Long Beach) fireworks. June bugs smacking into my screens- someone needs to let them know it is actually July. I have a mosquito bite on my ankle after 5 minutes outside. Ahh, summer.
I played tennis today, for the second time in a week. My sister and I now have a two time per week date to play incredibly bad tennis together. The Williams sisters we are not. I smoke a pack a day and generally prefer to be sitting in front of the air conditioner with said cigarette and laptop. But we try, so that's ok.
I bought the Oprah magazine July edition to read Harper Lee's letter about the love and necessity of reading. I can't say that it is all that satisfying. I want fiction from the woman, as does the rest of the world. But good for Oprah, anyhow.
I like Oprah in a sort of way that involves never watching her television show or buying her products. (I avoid novels with "Oprah's Book Club" stickers). I think I just like the idea of a woman media mogul. President Oprah and VP Barack Obama, anyone? She could easily be the one, I am just saying.... I want a female African American president and a Chicano female VP, but I'd settle for Obama. Or Edwards- I love a Southern Democrat with a drawl. I miss hearing Bill Clinton speak, that's all. An intelligent politician. With that adorable Alabama accent.... Sigh.
Why do I have absolutely no direction in my posts? I can't even control it when I know what I want to say....
I played tennis today, for the second time in a week. My sister and I now have a two time per week date to play incredibly bad tennis together. The Williams sisters we are not. I smoke a pack a day and generally prefer to be sitting in front of the air conditioner with said cigarette and laptop. But we try, so that's ok.
I bought the Oprah magazine July edition to read Harper Lee's letter about the love and necessity of reading. I can't say that it is all that satisfying. I want fiction from the woman, as does the rest of the world. But good for Oprah, anyhow.
I like Oprah in a sort of way that involves never watching her television show or buying her products. (I avoid novels with "Oprah's Book Club" stickers). I think I just like the idea of a woman media mogul. President Oprah and VP Barack Obama, anyone? She could easily be the one, I am just saying.... I want a female African American president and a Chicano female VP, but I'd settle for Obama. Or Edwards- I love a Southern Democrat with a drawl. I miss hearing Bill Clinton speak, that's all. An intelligent politician. With that adorable Alabama accent.... Sigh.
Why do I have absolutely no direction in my posts? I can't even control it when I know what I want to say....
02 July, 2006
Sending it Out... and other things...
I've sent out another story. I hope and hope. I wait and wait.
I miss writing. I haven't been at the keyboard that often recently. Although I've an idea percolating....
On a completely unrelated subject: my right hand has been hurting a lot. I've been having trouble sleeping. It aches and aches and aches. I think I might resort to that primitive thing- the doctor. I believe in never going, it that gives some sort of idea. I believe that blood belongs inside of me, not in a vial. I hate hospitals. The phrase "ICU" gives me chills since the three days I spent watching my grandmother's still frame under the watchful eye of beeping electronics. She died after useless intervention and the prolonging of my families' pain and useless raising of hope. I am no longer trusting. I hate the smell of those places.
One of my friends is pregnant with her first child. Hospitals. They make me worried, those places. They are inherently frightening, full of chemicals and things I know nothing of.
The sight of blood, indeed the thought of blood, makes me lightheaded and prone to fainting. I worry about friends entering those halls.
I take Aleve every day, almost, to help with the pain in my hands, avoiding the doctors still. I hope that I will be able to avoid hospitals in my lifetime, whenever possible. The thought of the end of ones' life in a place like that... It doesn't bear thinking about, really.
I wonder, occasionally, how exactly I will die. I don't mean this to sound as if I am hastening the day, merely that I wonder how it will happen. Inevitably one turns to the seminal "Six Feet Under" series, with their haunting opening scenes and the macabre and hilarious deaths. Shall I be the one to trip and impale my head on a sharp metal object? The one who runs into traffic, mistaking lost blow-up dolls for angels? The one who dies by skillet to the head? So many possibilities... I hope I have a moment to savor the situation and understand what it happening. That's all I really want from death.
I am not quite sure how this post devolved as it has.
I miss writing. I haven't been at the keyboard that often recently. Although I've an idea percolating....
On a completely unrelated subject: my right hand has been hurting a lot. I've been having trouble sleeping. It aches and aches and aches. I think I might resort to that primitive thing- the doctor. I believe in never going, it that gives some sort of idea. I believe that blood belongs inside of me, not in a vial. I hate hospitals. The phrase "ICU" gives me chills since the three days I spent watching my grandmother's still frame under the watchful eye of beeping electronics. She died after useless intervention and the prolonging of my families' pain and useless raising of hope. I am no longer trusting. I hate the smell of those places.
One of my friends is pregnant with her first child. Hospitals. They make me worried, those places. They are inherently frightening, full of chemicals and things I know nothing of.
The sight of blood, indeed the thought of blood, makes me lightheaded and prone to fainting. I worry about friends entering those halls.
I take Aleve every day, almost, to help with the pain in my hands, avoiding the doctors still. I hope that I will be able to avoid hospitals in my lifetime, whenever possible. The thought of the end of ones' life in a place like that... It doesn't bear thinking about, really.
I wonder, occasionally, how exactly I will die. I don't mean this to sound as if I am hastening the day, merely that I wonder how it will happen. Inevitably one turns to the seminal "Six Feet Under" series, with their haunting opening scenes and the macabre and hilarious deaths. Shall I be the one to trip and impale my head on a sharp metal object? The one who runs into traffic, mistaking lost blow-up dolls for angels? The one who dies by skillet to the head? So many possibilities... I hope I have a moment to savor the situation and understand what it happening. That's all I really want from death.
I am not quite sure how this post devolved as it has.
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