I am the worst traveler.
Wait…I am the worst preparer for travel. That’s more accurate. I’m only going five hours away, for God’s sake. How hard can that be? Hard when I can’t find my travel bag, the kids’ travel bag, my stuff that goes in the bag or the kids’ stuff that’s going in theirs. Little Man needed a sherpa to help guide him out of my closet when I asked him to find what we need. Welcoming emerild to the fringe, I must say that my blog seems to have devolved from the creative process of writing fiction to documenting a night in which I cannot find my shit. This is way below banana smoothie.
I may have something more interesting to say upon my return. Has anyone else noticed: since my leaving NASA, I have had more and more kid-centric and pet-centric posts? Is that because working from home is transforming me into a bootie-knitting stay-at-home mom? I am working, you know. Twenty hours a week is still a job. If I contain my procrastinator’s disease, I can work thirty. Damn, I need to get out of the house.
Another lost topic: my depression. I’m not exhibiting many symptoms these days, so what else can I write about? I’ve lost my cra-zay angle. I’m feeling normal and who wants that? No more voices, no more people talking about me behind my back (you know you were), no more medical experiments to report and laugh about maniacally. I wake up, I get the kids to school, I maybe clean the house a little, I work, I get the kids, we eat, we sleep. Who the fuck blogs about that shit?
I guess I do now. Argh.
Anyway, leaving on a jet plane and I’ll be back on Sunday. Be of good cheer and don’t start any flame wars on my behalf while I’m gone. If any trolls show, please go get Gyuss. He’ll eviscerate the problem maker before lunch is over.
Chat amongst yourselves in comments. Somebody welcome all newcomers. I think I overheard some mommy bloggers getting all excited about me when I was at the mall at the liquor store the other day. I gotta finish packing.
