I am so bored! Not at this very minute, actually, as I've just had the better (read: bigger) part of a bottle of wine (oh, maybe a whole bottle) and scintillating conversation on the terrace. I mean generally, in life, or at least this week.
Mostly, I'm working hard, and procrastinating harder, and denying myself all worldly and blogly pleasures because I should be punished for not working hard enough.
Saturday we leave to visit my mom for a week or so.
Until then, I'm feeling the pressure of work! and bills to pay! and laundry! and the novel I have to finish reading cuz I'll be damned if I have to carry it with me for hundreds of miles for just the final 20 pages! and sandals I need to buy cuz my old ones are broken and they hurt! and some new diversion for Helena to reward her for sitting quietly in a moving vehicle for 7 or 8 hours (which will also showcase her brilliance in front of family)! and maybe I should get a belated birthday present for my mom! and I have to send my resume out for that perfect job!
And the pressure of blogging! How uninspired I feel. And just look at the drafts of brilliant things I have, just sitting there, waiting 'til the time is ripe! And all those notes on The Golden Notebook — as scared as I was to read the damn thing, I'm even more scared of committing to saying anything about it. Though it will happen someday, cuz it needs to come out. Really. Just not before Saturday, probably.
Fuck this. I'm going to go finish that novel.
I hope I have important things to tell you before I go. Or at least on my return.
That is, apart from about how Helena elaborates her plans for the day and then grips my face between her hands, "Tu as compris, Mama?"
How we're trying to establish the habit of a walk after supper before bedtime. How yesterday it was just me and Helena, in the rain, and she kept insisting "hode ma han" and we traded umbrellas so I had a tiny ladybug over my head while a vast expanse of shadow loomed over hers, and I am completely head over heels for her.
And how do I explain to my mom that no, I don't speak much Polish to the child — she barely speaks English as it is.
Where'd my wine go? Right. As you were.