I don’t know why I’m writing this. Wait a minute. Yes I do. I’m writing this because right now I can’t be anything more or less than I am. I don’t feel like making something up, and pretending nothing happened. This is not fiction. Although I wish it was. I am an American. Usually I don’t like to bring that fact into a conversation. I don’t know why. But there it is. I am an American. And a New Yorker. …
And so, I am on my way home from work, with a blog post or two playing around in my head. I get home and I am all set to write. Actually can’t wait. My PA makes me a coffee before she leaves, and the cursor is blinking expectantly on the screen, ready for my words. My fingers reach for the keys. And my phone rings. I talk to my Dad, listening while my own sentences run through my head. …
I’m sitting here in my pajamas and robe writing this in a notebook as Sarge makes us breakfast. It is 3.30 and life is good. I’ve been thinking that thought since Thursday. It’s been going through my head like a mantra. I’m sitting here on Friday night eating Chinese food and watching The Golden Girls reruns. And life is good. We’re trudging through snow tracks on Saturday on the hunt for cake and hot chocolate, and life is good. …
I used to be obsessed with my dreams. I was the one who bought the books and looked up the themes and symbols. I asked questions right before I went to bed hoping I’d find answers in dreams. I wrote single words and even lists in the morning and weeks later had no idea what I was on about. That state of confusion isn’t limited to dreams. I don’t remember my dreams anymore. Perhaps because a major one came true,…
I am restless. Before sitting down to write this I played Mafia Wars three times, brushed my teeth twice, drank two cups of coffee, ate a bagel, turned on music, turned off the washing machine, did some laps around the house, thought of poems I’ve written about procrastination and wondered if this is another one, turned the music off and sat down to write this. The above word-splurge is what happens when you can’t leave the house because you…
