She spent it on a little hero worship
Yes, you guessed it. Now I am avoiding writing about avoiding writing. Which just goes to show that no matter how clever you are, your craziness will outsmart you every time.
True, unchained avoidance energy has fueled some stellar organization of nursing notebooks and a calendar/tickler/3x5 card altar to OCD which would bring tears to the eyes of that guy who still has his old slide rule. My withered intellectual loins are girded for Advanced Med-Surg Nursing. I go forth into darkness (5:50 a.m.) to bathe, inject, and suction the unwary.
Doesn't sound like fun? Well, the really cool parts are unmentionable.
There has been recreation this summer, true. During my brief semester break, while fully engaged in not writing the novel and the blog, I have sunned and supped and hung out with friends. I have seen War of the Worlds, and even read the latest Stephanie Plum adventure. (No eye-rolling here unless you have never in your life eaten a Peep.) But now the new semester is ramping up and, if past is prologue, it will be months before I read another book for pleasure. Kelly Link's new book is here (woohoo!), but I will wait to savor that by the spoonful, and in a moment, I will post this and climb into bed with Naked, which I must return to the library tomorrow largely unread. But that's okay. When December rolls around, I will need The Sedaris Effect, that laugh that sneaks up on you and unmakes your bones. There are other ways of being unmade. For me, late summer is anniversary season, and the losses crowd in: birthday, murder, suicide, birthday, suicide, thank god it's autumn. This year, there was also Me Talk Pretty One Day, and Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, and readings on NPR, and tapes from Carnegie Hall. I found time, made time, snipped it out of sleep and study, because these stories are the real thing, and the streets of America are not exactly paved with authenticity.
When Oprah comes to my house and says, "Susan, what is your wildest dream?" I will say, Oprah, dearest Oprah, beloved Mother Goddess of America, you are here and Einstein and Mother Teresa are dead, so I would like to have lunch with David Sedaris. He doesn't have to spend an hour at the table. He doesn't even have to order food. In fact, he can just sit in the limo at the curb and roll the window down a little, just enough to for me to whisper in that every time he makes a sad old woman laugh so hard she pees on her own feet, another angel gets his wings.
True, unchained avoidance energy has fueled some stellar organization of nursing notebooks and a calendar/tickler/3x5 card altar to OCD which would bring tears to the eyes of that guy who still has his old slide rule. My withered intellectual loins are girded for Advanced Med-Surg Nursing. I go forth into darkness (5:50 a.m.) to bathe, inject, and suction the unwary.
Doesn't sound like fun? Well, the really cool parts are unmentionable.
There has been recreation this summer, true. During my brief semester break, while fully engaged in not writing the novel and the blog, I have sunned and supped and hung out with friends. I have seen War of the Worlds, and even read the latest Stephanie Plum adventure. (No eye-rolling here unless you have never in your life eaten a Peep.) But now the new semester is ramping up and, if past is prologue, it will be months before I read another book for pleasure. Kelly Link's new book is here (woohoo!), but I will wait to savor that by the spoonful, and in a moment, I will post this and climb into bed with Naked, which I must return to the library tomorrow largely unread. But that's okay. When December rolls around, I will need The Sedaris Effect, that laugh that sneaks up on you and unmakes your bones. There are other ways of being unmade. For me, late summer is anniversary season, and the losses crowd in: birthday, murder, suicide, birthday, suicide, thank god it's autumn. This year, there was also Me Talk Pretty One Day, and Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, and readings on NPR, and tapes from Carnegie Hall. I found time, made time, snipped it out of sleep and study, because these stories are the real thing, and the streets of America are not exactly paved with authenticity.
When Oprah comes to my house and says, "Susan, what is your wildest dream?" I will say, Oprah, dearest Oprah, beloved Mother Goddess of America, you are here and Einstein and Mother Teresa are dead, so I would like to have lunch with David Sedaris. He doesn't have to spend an hour at the table. He doesn't even have to order food. In fact, he can just sit in the limo at the curb and roll the window down a little, just enough to for me to whisper in that every time he makes a sad old woman laugh so hard she pees on her own feet, another angel gets his wings.
posted by Susan Mosser | 11:49 PM
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