mimsy and outgrabe

I persist in thinking that I'm going to accomplish a lot every morning when I wake up, even though my body persists in thwarting my endeavors each day. For instance, yesterday I assumed that I was going to tackle the bags and bags of "give away" clothes that are piled in our basement, and finally separate the girls clothes and put them away for future use (because we found out on Tuesday that we're having a little girl in March -- much to The Boy's chagrin and Little Miss Talkalot's ecstatic, shrieking joy). However, after spending the morning vacuuming up about four lbs of dog hair from the first floor alone, and then attending Little Miss Talkalot's last soccer game of the season, followed by a victory lunch at McDonald's (a rare treat from Mommy) and a quick trip to the grocery store, I was completely, utterly wrecked. Done. I had not one ounce of energy left in me. So when The Boy went for his nap, so did I -- and The Girl quietly and happily veg...

Someone shared this on effbook today and I think it's lovely -- and funny, and moving. So I'm sharing it here, albeit through Alina Gregorian's Huffington Post article , because I think her reading of Stone's work is very accurate, very good. That's all, besides the tiny report that I "finished" the first of November's verse play monologues this morning. It only took me four days, Ma! But I came to a satisfying conclusion to the piece -- satisfying for now, at least -- and hopefully tomorrow I'll embark on a new monologue. (Or maybe a section of dialogue, who knows?)

We survived Hurricane Sandy without much incident or damage -- a few big limbs fell, our fences need to be mended, but fortunately we didn't sustain any direct damage to the house this time around. Sadly, most of Long Island did not. There were something like 100, 000 homes destroyed on Long Island alone. Our household was without power for a few days, but we were fairly well off because of A.'s forward thinking. After Hurricane Irene (or maybe just before? My memory's shot) my industrious husband purchased a generator. So when the storm hit, and the power went out at about 6 p.m. on Monday, we were able to hook it up to the house and have electricity every three hours or so.  Cable and the internet didn't come back on for some time, and while I would have preferred different circumstances being responsible for "taking [me] off the grid" it was kind of nice to be silent and unplugged for a while.  Well, not exactly silent. Two kids trapped in a h...

Yesterday I managed some serious work. I finished Chapter VIII of the fairy tale, which means that I'm starting Chapter IX today, and that I'm two chapters away from finishing the entire poem. I'd shout "woohoo!" except that I'm already, slightly, mourning the end of this insane project. I've pulled my hair out for months over this poem, and now that I'm faced with the prospect of not having to write the poem . . . I feel a little lonely. Does that make sense? I'm not gonna go all Tori Amos on you and start talking about my poems like they were people, but lonely is the word I want to use. Of course, this is typical of me: thinking so far in advance about something that I'm saddened by the prospect of it ending WHILE I'M STILL IN THE PROCESS OF EFFING WRITING IT. And I have two more chapters to go, which will be no small amount of work, particularly since the last chapter is a definite three-part-er. Also, yesterday, I managed to pick...