I do hate sighing. It causes one’s shoulders to droop in such a way that communicates, “I’ve nearly collapsed under the superficial weight of my petty troubles, but not quite. I’m simulating braveness and carrying on despite my ridiculous worries. And I am proclaiming my pre-martyrdom with exhalation.” Cue worried looks and artificial admiration, and some applause from the back, if you please.
Last week, I took an unintentional “Bloggy Break”, as Christine called it.
I didn’t get to sit down and write ONCE. Can you believe it? And crabby? Honey! I was tetchy, like MY writing time was being stolen from me by laundry and doctors appointments and children who needed nourishment and encouraging. *sigh*
But I persevered through the Unjust Jungle of Errands and Odd Jobs. I return haggard, in serious need of a haircut and eyebrow wax, and pathetically self piteous.
In truth, it was my fault. Poor time management. Please don’t tell my 10 year old, as Time Management is one of the sermons in syndication around this house. And I, being the Empress of Efficiency—as far as she’s concerned, am the Principal Pulpiter.
So, thank you for your patience. Check back this week as I’ll be regaling you with tales of Flu-Shot-Showdowns and my realization that the delicate flower that is my sister is wrought from iron and still dizzyingly beautiful-the beginning of a difficult and necessary story.
Here’s to Literary Liberties and Blogging Bliss.