I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take such a long hiatus. I can’t really claim anything other than the growing snowball of Journalcon-related things along with my other entirely full calendar of Things To Do, People to See, Things To Do, More Things, More Things, Lather Rinse Repeat.
Journalcon is over. Which is a sad thing, and also a relief, because while it may have seemed as though it was seamless, it really involved quite a bit of coordination and effort by a lot of dear selfless people. But this isn’t a post-Journalcon entry yet. This is a ‘Boy, am I tired’ entry.
Esteban was out of sorts this weekend while I was gone, and I came back to a backlog of freelance, homework, a stove full of empty Chef Boyardee ravioli cans (ugh’who the hell can eat that shit?) and a sleep deficit. Which I am fixing by writing a journal entry at midnight. Stupid times call for Smart Water, said Jake this weekend. Indeed.
Luckily, the people came today and spared me the surly notes, since I didn’t get home from the airport until after midnight and then had to go to work seven hours later. Luckily, most of the day was spent doing mindless things, so I was able to coast on the fact that I was wearing a suit (easy to put on since I didn’t have to think about what went with what) and at very least, looked really competent. Tonight, Mopie came over for our traditional Meh Race (sorry, the Amazing Race Family Edition is so non-compelling that we spend most of the time talking about other things and waiting for it to be over so that we can watch The Office) and Esteban brought us out for dinner where we talked about the weekend and penises and sticking one’s tongue down one’s throat and then chicken and waffles. Which is, believe it or not, the food of the gods. Screw honey and ambrosia, it’s all about the chicken and the waffles.
Also, I broke my toe. Or something. I don’t know. It’s numb but I can move it. I have a zombie toe, maybe. My toe needs brains. Braaaains!God, zombie jokes never fail to make me laugh.
Three nights ago, I stood at my window and looked down into a courtyard where a man in a tuxedo danced with a three-year-old girl in his arms. They spilled across the pool of spotlight and although I could not hear the taps of his shiny black shoes on the terracotta tiles over the mariachi music as he spun her around, in my head right now, I can hear it. Tap tappa tap. And on my purse right now, there is a red foam hand folded into a permanent ASL sign for I Love You. And sometimes, when the world is spinning and you don’t really remember where you belong, there you are. Right there.
I should go to bed.
