Skip to main content

CRAZY on parade

The Crazy Parade begins at 4:30 a.m. Monday - Friday. I fall out of bed, drink some coffee, watch the news, stub my toe on the way to the closet where I can't find the clothes I want to wear, I spend too long in the shower, and waste my last 15 minutes at home swearing at the hair dryer and the drawer that ate my eyeliner.

That's the calmest part of the day.

From there I'm on the freeway with the worst drivers in the world -- idiots who doddle in the passing lane side-by-side with the motorists to their right so it's impossible to get around them -- then I make my living reviewing some the strangest pictures on the Internet, which begs the question at least 100 times an hour, "What is WRONG with people?"

I laugh. I scream. I cry. I go home -- venturing out on the road once more with the same idiot drivers who nearly killed me eight hours earlier.

I'm greeted at my front door by two children who are so exhausted they're literally bouncing off the walls to stay awake -- there's my husband and our three cats too. No matter where I go I'm followed by someone who wants something -- toys, food, conversation, entertainment, approval, time ... ME. A relentless ruckus of voices and footsteps marches up the stairs and down the stairs and up the stairs and down the stairs until I can no longer tell if the noises are real or imagined.

There are no safe hiding places -- even the bathroom is penetrable.
I can sit on the couch downstairs with my husband and choose from a broad range of thought-provoking reality television shows about taxidermists or moonshiners or prison inmates or swamp people or gunsmiths or weirdos preparing for Sarah Connor's rendition of the end of civilization minus the Terminator. Or I can fight off my children with a large stick and carry my laptop from room to room while I write about how tired and crazy I am.

I go to bed at 10 p.m. Jerod's snoring usually wakes me up an hour later. Then Ashlyn's crying, Lily needs a drink of water, I have to pee and by then it's 4:25 a.m. Time to wake up and start the parade again.


Popular posts from this blog

The insecure writer's support group

The ground is important -- for several reasons.

Among them

Gravity makes no sense without it -- there's no mandate that science be logical so long as our scientists are the smartest smartypants on the planet, in which case "because I said so" is an acceptable explanation. The ground is important, because it's something to build on -- a starting point, a foundation.

I respect the ground, because it has on occasion fallen out from under me, and it's rather unsettling to watch your life in free-fall mode -- to see your accomplishments disintegrate in an instant or a decade in some cases. It all depends on how fast you're falling.

Most of us drop in slow motion. We'll catch a ledge or an up draft every once in a while and think "this is it!" But then we go on falling. Or do we? Is the "bottom" just a figment of our imaginations? Can we lay new ground wherever we choose?

Ask Alice

None of my friends growing up were impressed with Disney's…

Writers get laid

Writers get laid -- or they would if they tried -- because people -- especially women -- are impressed by the phrase, "I'm a writer." It's romantic.

Introducing yourself as a writer insinuates substance and depth of character; people like that. They don't know why, except that one-dimensional characters on T.V. sitcoms and big-screen romantic comedies prattle on and on about the whole package -- a good looking, funny, intelligent single with rock-solid values and money.

People admire the skill and dedication it takes to be a novelist or a journalist or a screen writer  -- "I always wanted to be a writer," they tell you with stars in their eyes.

Whether they know it's a myth or not they imagine us in rich, thrilling lives with sports cars and beach houses and Louboutin shoes like Carrie Bradshaw. So the woman at the grocery store doesn't feel bad when she puts back the US Weekly she read cover to cover before she checks out.

Or downloading unauth…

The mirror

Ashlyn discovered the funny mirror at the park today. I could tell you all a long, silly story about our adventure -- the chasing after crows, the falling (me not Ashlyn), the rc plane crash, the dog poop and the climb to the tippy-top-top of the play structure -- but the pictures in this case are funnier.