I’ve been dying to write something. You know, wax eloquent on the suburbs (we’re still moving! taking little bits out all week with big exodus scheduled for this Saturday! also, I thought crickets were extinct?), expound on how I make my friend, Michelle N. sad because I self deprecate too much (leaving me to wonder if I don’t make fun of myself, who can I? I don’t like to be mean to people. Other than that vampire-toothed cross-eyed lisper kid on NYC Prep), or post a poll on what to pack next here at SS San Diego Momma (so much stuff! how do we have so much stuff? we’re going from a three bedroom to a five bedroom and there are not enough Harry Potter closets for the stuff!), but I can’t craft anything worthwhile.
It’s not that I don’t want to, or have ideas, or need to tell you about how I had macular degeneration when I was 18 and they still don’t know why, and how it was the first time I was called “idiopathic,” but not the last. It’s that I can’t link sensical phrases together into coherency. To be true, for some time now, I haven’t felt like crafting a real post, preferring instead to drive by the blog and throw bullets and vent thought steam, but now I really want to write! To write! It’s just that I can’t afford the time this week. Plus, The Rock is going to Space Bag me if I don’t start doing something RIGHT NOW. And as a matter of fact, he had a talk with me a few days ago about how I’m not pulling my weight with this move, and all I can say is that I’m tired of coordinating things and planning and executing. I am sort of taking a mom’s night out, but every day and at an inopportune time.
Really? OK truth? My head is full of Silly String and I can’t find even one end to pull and untangle. I don’t know where to begin. You know that feeling when there is just so much and you have no idea how to start so you just don’t? Everything in this house looks like a big pile of scrap metal and patchwork and I can make heads nor tails of it.
In related news, I plan to visit everyone’s blogs and do all my PROMPTuesdays and stop self-deprecating in August, after I return from NYC and get Toots in kindergarten and buy a rug for under the kitchen table. And buy a kitchen table.*
*Disclaimer for The Rock: For an affordable and Craigslisty price, and only after I’ve finished packing the kitchen, and I won’t rush into the purchase like I did for the Costco sectional that looks like a Brady couch, and was supposed to be chocolatey but is instead baby poopy.
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