Confessions

I’ve been away. Apologies, few-and-far-between blog readers.

Hiro Protagonist “graduated” from preschool, will officially be a kindergartner in the fall.

I’ve been writing elsewhere.

I’ve been tweeting elsewhere. (For real, my soul feels worn thin as a shard of bone–for two weeks straight I’ve tried to get word out about reformers’ protests in Iran over their strong feeling that their latest election was a sham. I’m not sure where this movement is going, or how much more I can contribute to it.)

I dislike much “women’s trade fiction.” Mary Higgins Clark? Why??

I’m thirsty for good news. I hope to have some soon.

I’d most like to curl up into a ball and hibernate from this non-stop feeling of exhaustion all the time. And yet I can’t. I need to throw myself out into the world over and over again.

So here I am. Discombobulated and scattered and dispirited. Nerve endings frayed. Restless and wretched.

I wish it were different.

I wish my son would like watching movies in the theatre. He says they’re too loud and overwhelming. He has a point. The other day I saw DRAG ME TO HELL (it wasn’t half as bad as I was tempted to crack that title equals the experience of going). I was tempted to half-plug my ears the whole time.

I’ve killed one strawberry and one tomato plant and many sugar snap pea seedings establishing my garden.

But we have 5 tomatoes on the vine, and many more passing from flower to fruit.

I’m tired. Tomorrow will be another day.