...and I don't like it one bit. I'm sure you're saying to yourself "you goofball, your mom just died, you're supposed to be sad" but this isn't grief, it's the blahs. I know the difference. I put one of the pictures I took when I was up at The Clearing a couple weekends ago on here to remind me that there's a lot of un-blah things in my life and I'm wearing my Copper Harbor hoodie, copper earrings bought in Calumet and some socks I knit myself (they don't match, in case you're wondering) to remind me all day that I am the most un-blah woman I know and that I should pull myself up by my (red lace) bra straps and get over myself. I ordered the coolest thing from the NaNoWriMo office week before last and it came yesterday. It looks like one of those yellow "Livestrong" bracelets that everyone's been wearing for a while, but it says "My Novel" on it and the back is thicker because there's a built-in jump drive in there. How cool is that? I. Love. It. Couldn't wait for it to arrive. So in the winter when I'm ready to sit down and pound out the words of the story that's scrabbling to get told, I'll have somewhere extra cool to put it. Squee! (I am a total dork--but telling you about the bracelet has lifted quite a bit of the blahs so being a dork is good.)
November 17--Amadeo Modigliani, Jeanne Hebuterne. It was hot and still that summer she was pregnant. No matter that all the windows were flung as wide open as possible no cooling breeze ventured in. Jean nearly went mad in July. Matt was gone on a business trip. He'd call to complain about the clients and the meetings, and say how much he missed her. All she could think of was air-conditioned hotel rooms and eating out three times a day. She would lie in the shade of the wide porch with a stack of library mystery novels on the old table beside the wicker chaise and read the days away. She made endless pitchers of sun tea and she ate so much orange Jell-O with mandarin oranges in it she wouldn't have been surprised if their baby was born orange instead of pink. Oscar Mason who lived up the road told all his cronies at the diner that he thought Jean had taken to living out on that porch because no matter what time of the day or night he went by she was always out there.
And now it's time for me to dash off to work (ugh) so that Mrs. Boss can go off diving in Utila, Honduras for a week. *sigh* I'll be the one working.