state of the Laura: boring and drowning in snot
I am also high as balls on allergy meds at the moment. (I wrote that specifically for my lovely friend, Erin.)
I have a bunch of projects I'm working on; I have no idea which of them, if any, will see the light of day, but I like being busy. However, this massive allergy attack has left me sort of reeling in place (and drugged). I've hit a goal on one thing, and am ahead on another, so I figured to hell with it, let's just take today off from writing.
Then I got bored.
So now I'm on the blog, and I have no actual idea what I want to write about. How long has it been since I've posted? (goes to look) Oh, not quite a week--it seems so much longer!
All right, then, what's going on around here ...
Well, the boyo is out of school for the summer, and I think we're settling into a groove. Sort of. He's reading his way through Dr Seuss's entire ouevre, never mind that he's read them all already. I had forgotten how complex Dr Seuss got, once you move past Hop On Pop (though that book has its moments).
I was really trying to push him toward actual chapter books, because he spent a lot of time with those during the school year (oh my god, the Magic Treehouse books ...), but I've backed off a lot because, you know, it's the summer and he should be able to read what he wants. And if I can go back and read all my old Betsy Byars books, or all the Little House books, or every Neil Gaiman picture book in the library (which I did, before I had a kid), then he should get to read No, David! again if he wants.
(He does not, in point of fact, want to read No, David! This actually makes me kind of sad.)
So, yeah--lots of Dr Seuss and Adventure Time comics at The Little Pink House right now. Tomorrow we may go see How to Train Your Dragon 2, assuming I'm not dead of allergies.
I am s l o w l y working my way through a re-read of Milan Kundera's The Art of the Novel, which I remember really loving when I was 19 and read it the first time. I'm kind of wondering how much of that love was due to the fact that I was reading it during my semester abroad, quite frankly, because the second time through, at 41, is ... not the same experience. In some ways it's good. In some ways it's not. But there are some interesting ideas/quotes, and half the reason I want to keep going is I might end up blogging about it.
Still watching Orphan Black. In fact, there's a whole blog entry in me about why I love Sarah and Allison the best ...
(I just got a free copy of Allure, and it tells you something about my age and overall sensibilities that the headline "Her Gutsy Haircut & Supermodel Stories" is perhaps the funniest thing I've seen since I learned the phrase "high as balls.")
The allergies have made my voice go all squeaky (I rarely get the Phoebe-style sexy phlegm; I sound like the little rabbit kid from the Disney Robin Hood), so when patrons approach the desk to ask me for help, I end up replying with this startling sort of bark/squeak noise that then resolves itself into actual words. It's both embarrassing and amusing. Another observation of my current allergy hell is how much my mood and general outlook depend on whether or not I can breathe through my nose.
Okay, I honestly thought I had more stuff to write about--like, I had an actual idea for the next paragraph, and now--poof!--gone.
... all right, yeah, it's not coming back. And so I will wrap up this goofy, pointless blog post and go blow my nose. Again.
I have a bunch of projects I'm working on; I have no idea which of them, if any, will see the light of day, but I like being busy. However, this massive allergy attack has left me sort of reeling in place (and drugged). I've hit a goal on one thing, and am ahead on another, so I figured to hell with it, let's just take today off from writing.
Then I got bored.
So now I'm on the blog, and I have no actual idea what I want to write about. How long has it been since I've posted? (goes to look) Oh, not quite a week--it seems so much longer!
All right, then, what's going on around here ...
Well, the boyo is out of school for the summer, and I think we're settling into a groove. Sort of. He's reading his way through Dr Seuss's entire ouevre, never mind that he's read them all already. I had forgotten how complex Dr Seuss got, once you move past Hop On Pop (though that book has its moments).
I was really trying to push him toward actual chapter books, because he spent a lot of time with those during the school year (oh my god, the Magic Treehouse books ...), but I've backed off a lot because, you know, it's the summer and he should be able to read what he wants. And if I can go back and read all my old Betsy Byars books, or all the Little House books, or every Neil Gaiman picture book in the library (which I did, before I had a kid), then he should get to read No, David! again if he wants.
(He does not, in point of fact, want to read No, David! This actually makes me kind of sad.)
So, yeah--lots of Dr Seuss and Adventure Time comics at The Little Pink House right now. Tomorrow we may go see How to Train Your Dragon 2, assuming I'm not dead of allergies.
I am s l o w l y working my way through a re-read of Milan Kundera's The Art of the Novel, which I remember really loving when I was 19 and read it the first time. I'm kind of wondering how much of that love was due to the fact that I was reading it during my semester abroad, quite frankly, because the second time through, at 41, is ... not the same experience. In some ways it's good. In some ways it's not. But there are some interesting ideas/quotes, and half the reason I want to keep going is I might end up blogging about it.
Still watching Orphan Black. In fact, there's a whole blog entry in me about why I love Sarah and Allison the best ...
(I just got a free copy of Allure, and it tells you something about my age and overall sensibilities that the headline "Her Gutsy Haircut & Supermodel Stories" is perhaps the funniest thing I've seen since I learned the phrase "high as balls.")
The allergies have made my voice go all squeaky (I rarely get the Phoebe-style sexy phlegm; I sound like the little rabbit kid from the Disney Robin Hood), so when patrons approach the desk to ask me for help, I end up replying with this startling sort of bark/squeak noise that then resolves itself into actual words. It's both embarrassing and amusing. Another observation of my current allergy hell is how much my mood and general outlook depend on whether or not I can breathe through my nose.
Okay, I honestly thought I had more stuff to write about--like, I had an actual idea for the next paragraph, and now--poof!--gone.
... all right, yeah, it's not coming back. And so I will wrap up this goofy, pointless blog post and go blow my nose. Again.