Strange

Just a brief post (ha! as if...) to say that on my Mac at work, the blog looks strange, with weird symbols. But it looks perfectly lovely here on my PC. Strange.

I was a judge at the annual sandcastle competition (literally what it sounds like, far-flung fans — a sandcastle and sand sculpture contest held on the beach every year). It was a lot of fun and such a beautiful day. I got a little pink in the cheeks from the sun but not too bad.

BBE has a new name — he’s now the Unhusband (which makes me the Unwife). Perfect, because while we were both unhappily married, now we are happily unmarried, and we can enjoy what it is without worrying about the rest of that societal pressure, etc. We hit on that this weekend, which was our 18 months-of-true-bliss-anniversary, and after at least three hours of talking it over, with a few more hours here and there, we were at a standstill. And then the revelation — so simple! so perfect! So here we are: a happily (lawfully!) unwedded couple. Weird? Maybe — but it works for me.

What else? I read my work at the Frank Bette Center Saturday night: read the intro to my memoir-in-progress, which seemed to go over well (though I didn’t read “the line,” that over-the-edge line that breaks windows and cracks molars when I say it aloud.). Yeah, I guess I’m a chicken shit. So sue me. Better yet, buy the damned book when it comes out and read The Line for yourself.

I also read a handful of poems — some from the forthcoming book, others having their first outing like a baby in a pram. They were sweet and shy and ready to bawl, but managed to go forth without too much trouble. The theme was Our Men, and all the gallery art was focused on men — portraits, nudes, photographs, etc. Lovely stuff.

This reads like a grocery list but I am hastening to bed. I am back onto Not Sleeping again and looking forward to the few hours I do sleep…zzz…

My to-do list for summer includes nailing out drafts of the rest of my memoir; I have five of the dozen pieces I need (maybe six). Maybe I should do 14 and then whittle it back to 12. Anyway, I plan to write the rest of it over summer (again, ha!) and have a decent draft to work with by fall. In fall out comes the poetry book, plus a couple of Red Hills Review Presents evenings, then Alameda Literati and a nervous breakdown (or two). Then, wham-bam, it’s T-Day, Christmas and time for New Year’s resolutions. First and foremost: get an agent and shop the book around. So you see I have a lot to do.

Even more first and foremost is getting some sleep. This week is too busy, as the last week of school, kids about to go away on separate vacations, plus graduation for UnStep-Daughter, and Father’s Day, etc.

Oh, and guess who’s moving? One of these days soon, I’m looking to get out of the house and into a smaller flat or apartment. Too much yardwork to deal with here — the trees constantly drop those spiky nuts everywhere, plus leaves and twigs, so that before you can even mow you have to rake. Ugh, and there is a weird powder on the leaves that I’m apparently allergic to, so doing any yardwork makes me sneeze. And in the fall, all the leves fall down and it takes three weeks of green waste cans to clear it all up. I can’t keep up with the weeds and the lawn and the leaves. Plus, this house is hell expensive. I can save $500 a month by moving. So there’s the deal. Don’t worry, I’m only moving a couple of blocks away, not two counties like the last time.

Does anybody want a piano? Upright — you move it yourself. Name your price. You can have it, if you promise to be good to it.

Advice to Aspiring Writers: Don’t buy a piano.

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