Quote of the Day:
“I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.” -Joan Didion
Exactly. But then, that’s why she’s Joan Didion, folks.
I’m trying to feel my way through book #3. (I’m thinking of calling it Winterlands. The Winterlands? This Is How It All Ends? The Sound and the Fury. Oh. Wait. That’s already taken. (Why is it that I always think The Sound and the Fury would make a great title for a post-modern Bruce Lee Meets Faulkner southern dysfunctional kung fu movie? There could be lots of super-cool aerial moves followed by long, rambling discourses about time and luck and occasionally, somebody could bellow in the background. These are the thoughts that derail me.)
It’s cold in NYC today. Waaaay cold. And the chirpy weather woman (who is secretly sadistic) announced that we were going to have an Arctic Plunge! come Monday and Tuesday. And I thought, wha??? Aren’t we already in the arctic plunge? You mean it’s going to get COLDER? Whimper. Grumble. Sigh.
I’m not a winter hater. I love snow. I like hot chocolate and the wearing of scarves. Theoretically, I like winter sports but since you’re never going to see my clumsy a** on a snowboard or skis or any other instrument of possible early death masquerading as fun, it’s only a theory. Yeah, so winter is all well and good–in its place. But come March 1st, it’s over for me. My Texas blood wins out. That’s about the time that winter becomes a guest who has overstayed his welcome, and all the “great to see you! Wow, thanks for the hostess gift. Can I get you some tea?” rapidly fall apart. Suddenly, I see winter sleeping till noon, traipsing through my kitchen in his boxers and bedhead, scratching his butt, nearly tripping on the pizza box carnage on my floor while grabbing my remote and pronouncing, “Whooeee! Sorry, man. Those bean burritos did NOT agree with this boy!” Winter needs to catch the next train outta town. (My Canadian friends are reading this and chuckling to themselves. “Wuss!” they cry. “Come up here and get a real taste of cold. We go outside in January wearing SHORTS, you wimpy author type, you.”)
Okay. Must bundle up to take my kid to McDonald’s. I’m going to look like the Michelin Man with a sudden fondness for pink.