Sometimes I get like this. Okay more than sometimes. Half of whatever is most of the time.

When I was a kid, I really liked my friends in the daytime. Bike rides! Treehouses! MASH! Cheerleading! Swimming! But come sleepover time, I was filled with dread the approximate weight and color of lead. (Dread! Lead! LeadDread!) It meant I had to step out of my comfort zone, yank down my wall of armor, and spend more than 2 hours with (gasp!) other! people! And, on top of that, I had to sleep in front of these other! people!

What I'm saying is, I can't count how many times I would wake Peggy's or Katie/Lexie's or Jessica's or Nycole's mom up to say I didn't feel good, I wanted to go home. I became That Girl. You know, the one the other girls would place over/under bets on, trying to gauge what time I'd be going home. (Usually around midnight, thank you very much.) Thankfully, my mom or dad would always come to get me. Back home, in my room, I breathed a sigh of relief as the lead was replaced by light. I was alone, amongst my things, and no one was looking at me. Heaven. (Did I have a twinge of Aspberger's? Shut up.)

I am still like that. It takes a significant amount of preparation for me to convince myself that leaving the house is a fine idea, and even more to convince myself that everything will be just fine if I hang out with friends at this bar or party or whatever social event featuring other! people! I can do it, but it is painful.

Which is why my life as a homebody is, for the most part, glorious. Ben and I can't wait to hang out with each other on the couch; we love spending time with our dogs.

And yet, there are days where I feel restless, where the thought of spending 24 hours at home sounds like torture, like some kind of trap I've set but forgotten the way out of. Today is Halloween. For months I've looked forward to our plan of handing out candy and watching a scary movie. But this morning I woke up anxious, wishing we had a party to go to or hell, a group of friends who all knew each other and just naturally came together on holidays like this.

Sometimes a girl wants to be seen. (Yep, I went there. I'm sorry but I'm also not.) And I don't have an answer or a solution or a party to go to. And I'm pretty sure I'll have a good time watching a movie with my husband.

But still. There is always that still.

If I were going to a party, I would go as this. Don't watch it. Really. Don't.

Update

I've been cautioned by my publisher that this blog should be updated. So here's what I have for you:

Last night I saw a little girl beat her small white dog like it was a rug infested with fire ants. I yelled at her to stop hitting the dog; she got indignant and stalked off. In other news, little girls are overrated.

I want to see this:



Now that I think of it, the little girl hitting her dog looked like the little girl in this trailer. Well.

Oh and the reason I have a publisher is because there is a book on the horizon with my name on it. September 2010. It's called "Daddy's." More news coming soon.

I leave you with Jew in the Room. I feel happy to know the blog author, but unhappy that she moved to California before I could get around to forcing her to be besties.

And the boy got swagger

Exciting things have happened. One, there are only 37 days until I promise my privates to one man for the rest of eternity (or until I stop procrastinating about the divorce).

But further:

I was honored to find out that StorySouth named my story, Unpreparing (which Hobart deemed worthy of publishing), as a notable of 2008. Even though it fell short of the minimum word count!

And also, Wigleaf picked my story, Tuesday (which Smokelong gave a home to) as one of the Wigleaf Top 50 Very Short Fictions, 2009!

There are many of my literary heroes also included in these lists, and I can't believe I am in their company! So exciting and thus excited.

Remix

This is awesome. I might very well participate under a variety of pen names. One being "J.D. Robb," natch.

Also, so into Eastbound and Down. I have loved Danny McBride since I first laid eyes on Bustass in All the Real Girls.

New Neko Case is the shit, can't wait to see her and Crooked Fingers in April. (The last time I saw Crooked Fingers the sound wasn't working so the band jumped off the stage and played acoustically while Eric Bachmann sang into the crowd. One of the top 5ive experiences of my life.)

Regarding personal shit, I have decided on a color palate for my bridesmaids and thus for the entire wedding. Marine blue, lime green, and brightass pink. And all the accents therein. Now that that is settled, I am free to wig about the next batch of stupid crap: what Ben/his groomsmen will wear, what my niece and nephews will wear, what frigging stamp to put on the invites. (I actually really like the planning process, but I have all too often come up against a wall in my creativity that I can only jump over after convincing myself my wedding will be the cheesiest, most boring event I will ever experience.)

Get my hole

There are times when it feels like my insides are hanging in strips after they've been grated from my body by a blind old man, and I'm walking through them trying not to touch them, but I can't help it.

You know?

For the most part it is music or art that fucks me up in this way. And that is for sure the case now. The combination of Frightened Rabbit, Lark and Termite (the secret fur oh man oh man), Blake Butler, and an old story of Steve Kanaval's I recently came across hidden in my desk has done the trick. What can I do but write and write and write.

I feel like I'm running from myself toward myself. Gross.

I am going to tag this entry "beer farts."

Never Say Die

Here I am, blogging while the Oscars are on mute. (Did anyone else notice that Hugh Jackman had a web of white spittle at the corner of his mouth during the opening number, btdubs? The horror.)

Anyway, the point is I'm not promising anything, especially since my last post was over a year ago. Poor Bob Seger had to represent all that time. But lately I've been thinking I've got stuff to share. So I figured I'd give the blog another go.

Here is what I've wanted to share lately:

Lark and Termite oh no she didn't but in a good way.
Yeasayer.
Wedding photographer.
Revisiting the Lebrons commercials.

I'll leave it at that for now.

I've never felt more alive.