One of a few things I'm trying to not dwell on.

Here's the backstory if you're new here-
or if you're like my husband who only hears the words that come after steak, beer, bed, free or panties.
I wrote a (steak) novel- actually three, but here- to minimize dwelling potential- we're only talking about the one my agent read, liked, edited and last week pitched to a bunch of (beer) hot NYC editors.
It's summer, so of course I have plenty to do to keep me busy (panties) during the waiting period- which I have been told can be three days, four weeks, five months, six years or somewhere short of forever. So I wait. And I check my horoscope and the tarot and throw chicken bones like rune stones. It's just that, I am so freaking good at dwelling... that I've about given myself a (free) crazypersonbreakdown- which is good for prepping a body for bathing suit weather, (steak) and pretty good for sleeping long periods of time or drinking large bottles of wine.

I blame the crazypersonthing on (panties) travel, planning, packing, (beer) kids and all their messes and friends and problems and arguments, money difficulties, (steak) the IRS, running another literary business, (beer), replacing household appliances, hiring workers and (bed) prepping our house for sale, while trying to figure where to move, how much to spend and when. Add in (free) difficult work and personal relationships and a growing dislike for (panties) your location in the world, and you pretty much have a recipe for disaster. Or at least the perfect combination of events that lead someone like me to buy a first class ticket on the train to crazypersonville, Xanax included.
I'm not complaining. really, I'm not. I'm just stating the facts. I'm just sharing in the way one might share one's thoughts, feelings, ideas and current status with her loving caring extended family over a Sunday Dinner. (though in my family? We ignore all the bad shit, only talk about the done deal stuff that won't hurt anyone's feelings and definitely never mention hopes or wishes or desires because that's all just dreaming and God knows where dreaming gets you... nowhere little girl with her head in the clouds, and guess what? No one ever wins the lottery or beats cancer either.)
( beer, panties, bed, free, steak)
Mostly it's my fault for taking too much on. For feeling superior over normalcy, for desiring more and more- not the material stuff, just the wrapping up of the regular stuff. If I had a real job in a real office I would be the one with the uber-neat cubicle, the one who was never late, who stayed overtime and always always cleared her desk before she left for the day. You, as my co-worker would hate me for making you seem incompetent, and I would spend all my free time trying to get you to like me. Going places with you I never wanted or needed to go, planning events that would please you and offering, always offering to pay, to drive, to negotiate, to make things simpler. In my head, you'd be my friend, and I'd think it was all normal, sane.
But it isn't. Which brings me back to dwelling- which makes me think I have way too much brain time on my hands because I now have twenty pages of new novel experiences and insight to the characters in the work in progress, all from my crazypersonville experiences of the past few months, and honestly? This may be some of the best work I have ever done- and that's not fucking crazy to dwell on.
Is it?

Designer Shoe Dream

Designer Shoe Dream
Originally uploaded by Another Good Thing

If you want real designer goods at real people prices, you can shop the outlets and off-season stores. Around here we have Saks Off Fifth, Nordstrom Rack, TJ Maxx, Ross and Marshalls.. to name a few. Label shopping usually requires a great deal of patience, rack shifting and ultimately allowing others to invade your personal space triangle. Ugh.
I have had more fun buying knock- offs on the streets of New York or hitting the vintage stores and upscale consignment shops, and honestly? The label is not as important to me as the fit. Except for one name:
Manolo Blahnik.
his new collection:


I have promised myself a pair of real live MBs when I sell my first novel.
And now, I feel even worse for sleeping in this morning when I could have been writing.

The last day of school=Panic

Today is the last day of school for kids in Georgia, and I've let another year go by failing to fulfill my selfish desire--to return to bed after the kids leave.
I'm not sure WHY I can't do it. Something to do with the long list in my diary or the constant flow of ideas I can't shut off. It's not that I can't sleep. I've never suffered from insomnia, Thank God. I guess I'd just feel LAZY going back to bed for no real reason and lethargy breeds lethargy- so I fear once I'd lay down, that would be it- the end of my productive day.

Yesterday, during an impromptu MOMS MORNING IN party, after movie, mimosas and lemon drops and pastries a friend joked that she'd be ready for her nap by 1:00. It's weird, but I can't understand the whole long nap thing- especially when people do it in a chair or on a couch...if you're tired, drink coffee, exercise- or if you're sick and tired? Go to bed. Right? My family was never the napping type.
Don't get me wrong. Sometimes a nap is necessary. I used to be the queen of the cat nap. 10 minutes between jobs and I'd be good to go another 7 hours, serve another annoying crowd of drunks- and then go out partying afterward, but I've changed. I no longer need to work from 5-2 then 5-8 then 9 to 2.

My new schedule is more like write for 3 hours, do family stuff for 2 hours, write for 3 hours then do household stuff for 3 hours, personal stuff for an hour, more family stuff for 3 hours, watch TV for 1-2 hours then go to bed and read for an hour then sleep for 6. It works for me and I can't tell you how much work I get done in a quiet house when the whole rest of the world is sleeping. But my list is never completely crossed off...

Maybe tomorrow I'll convince my pea brain that it's Saturday and sleep in.

Shut off your lights, today for EARTH DAY.

This Saturday we are shutting off all of our lights from 8-9pm.
Asked by one of my FACEBOOK groups to turns off our lights for one hour, if we all participate, we can reduce this year's carbon footprint by approximately 22,290,910 pounds. That's equivalent to saving 400,000 trees or preventing 8.4 million pounds of carbon dioxide from entering the atmosphere.

What can you do?
Turn off your lights!

Last year 2.2 million people shut off their lights for one hour to show their awareness towards global warming. If we can help to spread the awareness, we can become a part of a great cause that will help to preserve the earth.

Think of what you can do in the dark.

Let's Talk about BEDS.

Double	Full	54"	75"
Queen	Queen	60"	80"
Standard or Eastern King	King	76"-78" (widest)	80"
California King	Western King	72"	84" (longest)

Recently, I have been wondering about master bedrooms. One, why they are called, "master?" and two, why do people feel the need to make the bedroom more than a place to sleep? It seems that designers are taking the "let's make this room look like a hotel room "approach and I don't know about you, but I don't want to live in a hotel.

I've been looking at friend's new homes and houses online and someday soon will even buy one of those lovely properties and increase my square footage overall and in the bedrom... so what I was wondering was- would it be weird to put 2 full or queen beds in the master bedroom, instead of one huge king-sized one that will cost loads and loads to dress in quality linens?

This is the thing- I love sleeping alone. I sleep best alone. neither my husband nor I snore and there isn't much flailing going on, but when we share the queen bed, both of us love the moment the other vacates and we can sprawl in the center. Would it be so bad to use the "sitting area" of a master suite for the second bed?
Here's how I see it.
You go to bed together, his or mine... and an hour later- or twenty minutes later, someone goes back to their own bed. Everyone gets to choose their linens, their mattress type and their pillow- no one gets bopped in the nose by a wandering elbow, or slammed in the ass by a drawn up knee- and no one had the covers pulled from them in the middle of the night. If I want to read until 2 am, I can and if he wants to hear his music on his headphones, he can.

I think this might be a really good idea. Or am I nuts?

Totally off subject and a little meandering.

You might have thought it was the dog in your bed the way the poor thing whimpered, the way his leg jerked out, then kept running as if squirrels taunted him in the forest. You may have thought the kids were geniuses the way they blurted out mathematical figures and long monologues of poetry with their eyes shut. You may have thought someone was sick, someone was lonely or someone was angry, if you came upon any of us in our sleep.

My family will never go to one of those sleep clinics. I'm afraid they'd never let us leave. We are too much material for the research machine. We're sleep walkers, sleep talkers, sleep writers and sleep arguers. We have solved all the problems of the world without ever waking up. If we were more enlightened we might think we were tapped into Shiva, the goddess of sleep. But instead, we just think it's weird when people say they don't dream, or if they do, they don't remember.
I can fly in my sleep just take a few running steps and lift off. It's not at all scary and I am in perfect control. I dream in technicolor, I revisit places, I see places I'll go to next week and I remember it all. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night and write it all down, just so I get it exactly right. I have known what was around the corner in strange places, because I have been there in my dreams. I have used dreams to jumpstart stories, to fill in the blanks of novels, to find that perfect line of a poem. I have also been angry with real life people for betraying me in my dreams and cautious of others because of what they may or may not have done in my dream.
My subconscious is such a strong part of me, it's too bad I think sleeping is a waste of time. I'm a 4-6 hour girl. By choice.
My kids can just lie there 10- 12 hours, no problem. My husband can sleep 13 hours, and has, but if he's under stress, he'll flop around all night, he'll mumble and flail and then he'll
talk in his sleep. If I want to mess with him, I'll answer back. This can go on for a few sentences and although I have no idea what what we're arguing about, I always let him win. It's his dream.

Dreaming isn't all of it. I used to sleepwalk, not as bad as those weirdoes who pee in the kitchen trash can or eat odd food in the fridge, or the one girl who cleans all night and then is too tired the next day to do her job well. The first time anyone witnessed my sleepwalking, I was at my grandmother's house and had gotten up from the makeshift bed on the couch, walked right into the bathroom where my tough as nails New Jersey aunt was brushing her teeth, told her good night and climbed into the bathtub, sliding the glass door shut behind me.
Not so bad, right? Though embarrassing in the morning. Maybe not as bad as my sister who became a bus driver in her sleep. One morning at our one room cabin in the Adirondacks, she told us all to "Move to the back of the bus!" I thought she ought to set her sights a little higher next time she pulled up the sheets.

Maybe having this second life under the covers is a good thing, after all who can blame you for what you do when you're sleeping, right? If only I could fall into it as easily and with as little guilt as my dogs.
Yes, I have been trying to rest more while my nose heals.