Hey! How’s your day going? I love my children, but I wish to leave them at the Zoo. In the skunk cage. There is no skunk cage? Here are skunks. I just painted them, so they may be slightly tacky still. (They get that from my side of the family.)
Franny has been having nightmares and is generally a clingy ball of mess over her dad’s impending move, which has been impending for about five months now. If you look at it like that, I suppose everything impending. Death. The Rapture. Your Mom.
ANYWAY. It is not pretty around here. I am trying to be the rock and the stalwart mom, who can cheerlead and prop-up and be a trellis for my little clinging vine without going GET OFF GET OFF MOMMY NEEDS SOME WINE or talking smack about the source of her anxiety.
So there have been nightmares, followed by knocking on my door that goes on CEASELESSLY and with the same interval between each series of knocks. I am dreaming I am at a restaurant and suddenly it’s…full of woodpeckers, tap tap tap tap tap. The woodpeckers melt away and them I’m in a club dancing to a really boring techno beat, tap tap tap tap tap. Then I am awake and ANGRY, because there is real live knocking on my door and it is real live four a.m.
As a compromise I told her that ONLY IF she had another terrible nightmare could she come up to her sister’s room and sleep on her small area rug if she promised to be quiet and not disturb her sister. What do I hear this morning at six a.m.? Chattering waking me up an hour-and-a-half before the time we usually wake up. Strudel is a light sleeper. This was a Bad Idea. I fail about three out of four times.
I talked to Franny this morning and told her that I decided it was not going to work out, as her sister would always stir, see Franny, and wake up fully. I would have to think of something else. Talk turned to dreams after that and Strudel told us about one of her dreams, and I told mine.
“I didn’t have any dreams last night,” Franny announced.
“Really?” I said.
“Nope, none.”
“You had NO dreams AT ALL last night?”
“No, Mom, gosh.”
“Then why did you come up to your sister’s room and wake her up?”
Franny’s face turned crimson and she stammered a little. She sat quietly for two minutes and then said, “I’m sorry, Mom.”
So now…I don’t know. I am thinking. I want to help Needy Kid, but I can’t sleep with my seven-year-old every night.
Also, I am reading from Can I Sit with You? in San Francisco very soon. Anyone in San Francisco? Deets:
FRIDAY, January 25th
8 p.m.
$1-$5 (CHEEP)
at Vince and Pete’s Three Dollar Bill Cafe
1800 Market St, SF
I was going to act like I was all cool and I read all the time on demand, but I don’t. I am nervous. I had a very detailed dream that I accidentally got roaring drunk before the reading and was wearing a scoopneck top that got progressively looser, so I was having trouble even keeping my boobies covered. And then I kept dropping the book, which I was too drunk to read anyway. AY YI YI. My anxiety dream, let me show you it. I will just have to pretend I am at home, readng Poppy and Rye to Franny.
It’s says it’s Queer Open Mic night, but I think they are planning for us, so I am hoping that I won’t get the hook if I go over five minutes.
I’ve been lurking here for a yearish hanging on to your every word. I’ll definately have to stop by V&T’s on Saturday!
Whoa! Say hi!!!
Say hi to all the folks for me. I wish I could go.
Ay yi yi where are your self promotion skills mujer?
I had to google this:
http://www.lulu.com/browse/preview.php?fCID=1466612
I knew you were in a book but I didn’t remember the book and I sort of connected the dots but wanted more details. Other readers are probably not as dumb as me, of course!
Oh and good luck and don’t be anxious–you will be fabulous and I’m sure your reading would be a great hit if you were drunk and showed your boobs so truly you cannot fail.
Dammit, I forgot to link it. Thanks.
I shall consider the boob advice if they are falling asleep.
You’re gonna be GREAT. Everyone loves you. Think about the rave reviews your sistah bloggers gave you at Blogher. Go, SJ. I wish I could be there. (And if you’re reading in San Fran that must mean there are no needy kids with you. So I hope you get some good rest.)
oh, i’ll be at the reading, too!
sat, jan 25th doesn’t exist on my calendar. i want to be sure i block out the right night. fri or sat?
Friday, because I am a CRACKHEAD
Man, I kind of suck at this self-promotion thing.
Bummage! I can’t be there until 10ish. I hope I don’t miss your reading! Perhaps I’ll get there just in time for some boob slippage?
Heh. My anxiety dreams are always about being the stand-in band member at state marching contest. I know–lame. But last time, the girls in the band had no pants, only tights, and mine were full of holes, and no one had a spare, and… As my hubby says, you can’t take the nerd out of the girl.
OHH you’re going to the big city! i wish i could see you reading :) hope it goes well.
(and have been talking to Dr G about July… looks like it’s on baby!)
I got incredibly drunk before a reading once. It was only sort of my fault. A friend of mine was tending bar at the theatre where I was reading, so when I ordered a mixed drink she put about four times more vodka in it than one would generally put in a drink of this sort. And then I drank the whole thing before my reading, like a dipshit. When it was time for me to read I damn near fell down the stairs on my way to the stage. Slurred my way through the intro, then hit my stride on the comic routine. I saw a video of it later and you can barely tell I was fucked up.
Everything is amplified by a million when you’re presenting. You pretty much just have to take it on faith that you’re speaking English and that nobody can see your junk.
Bummer — I will be in transit & not able to get to the reading.
But you are going with the good girlfriends, so not to worry.