Despite not posting on anything even resembling a regular schedule, I do often compose blog posts in my head. Sadly by the time they are completed in that rickety place I call a brain I lose interest in recreating them in a concrete way (however concrete the internet is) and they are lost to the ether and the labyrinth that is my gray matter.
I was talking to Gary briefly this morning about this very issue. He's having the same problem. I'm glad to know I'm not alone in this. See, my mother used to take a bath every morning and would always go on about how she had written several letters while she was soaking. Needless to say there was never an actual letter. I defy anyone who ever knew the woman to come forward with an physical letter. Didn't happen. Though a few times she did manage to make a taped letter. Talking, so much easier. Any way when I compose these things in my head I fear it is an hereditary flaw and I'll just never write again. Like some genetic time-bomb has finally gone off in my head. Okay I mean like some OTHER genetic time-bomb has finally gone off in my head. But it seems to just be 'a thing'. A thing everyone goes through from time to time.
Another hereditary flaw that seems to have finally shown itself is allergies. My mother was a runny nosed, water eyed sneeze machine when the forsythia was blooming. Me: I'm allergic to two things: broccoli and metal. Otherwise nothing bothers me. Strong peasant stock right here. Send me into the potato fields! But a couple of weeks ago I was doing my little run around the Central Park Reservoir and feeling all full of myself since I can go around 3 times like it's nothing. For those keeping score that's 4.8 miles and I go a little further to up it to 5. So go me. Whee. I had plans that night, was all pumped from the run, took a shower and out of NOWHERE couldn't breathe through my nose and my throat was on fire. I assumed it was some insane cold that hit out of the blue. Though I've never had a cold come on with no warning like that... then I realized (after mentioning it to several people who know better) that colds do NOT happen like that. Nor do they pass so quickly. So yeah, seems I've developed some sort of allergy. Dammit.
On a less damn my genetics note my apartment is immaculate for a change. Due to the fact that I was having a couple of people over last Friday. Gary, Mark and Gregg (I do so love a house full of the handsome menfolk - what can I say?) came over for what was to be a preliminary blogger meet. Gregg aka Junk Thief flew in from California and it was his birthday so it seemed appropriate to have a little mini-event. What this meant to me was GOOD LORD I NEED TO CLEAN THIS DUMP! Seriously trapped within me is a 12 year old boy. I've gotten him to stop collecting sci-fi action figures and such, but he simply refuses to be tidy. Kids. So there was a mega cleaning needed 'round here before I could even dream of having anyone walk through that door.
Happily I got it done in time and now I reap the benefits of lots of cleared horizontal spaces and a really clean kitchen floor. Sure 'the kid' won't keep it up for long, but I figure I've got a week or so of neatness. Anybody wants to come by: do it now before the clothes start piling up on the kitchen table again.
Gregg was just lovely and I wish I'd gotten to meet the others who were gathering on Saturday. Unfortunately I have no gift for scheduling or directions and while I thought I could make it to the big meet-up I realized too late that there was no way. See, I've got a little job. YEAH, I know what a riot, huh? I'm walking a dog on the weekends (thanks to a couple of mah dog-lovin' sistahs who usually do it needing a sort of 'temp' dog walker.) So I'm donning my slut-wear and walking a dog - in a few weeks I'll be walking 7! It's like canine party time for me!
The photo above was clumsily taken later Friday night at the Rodeo Bar where Gregg and I went to see Comic Tales of Tragic Heartbreak. My batteries were, as usual, on their way out so my photos are sort of um... not so great. Well that and I was, how shall I put it? Oh, I know: loaded. Oy. I should never be allowed near an open bottle of red wine when I'm nervous. I'm told I was funny. Which is better than being obnoxious. So I'll take it. But Gregg was a real peach and took some video for me and the band was great so really, all in all a fabulous night.
Now all I have to do is try to keep the apartment decent, run without inhaling pollen, steer clear of wine and actually put my fingers on the keyboard here and everything should be dandy. That is... until the next thing, and there's always a 'next thing'.