Random Acts of Randomness

A few thoughts and things:

• Writer’s strike hurts. I can’t bear re-runs. My DVR is so underused. Writers do a hard job, and it’s only fair to do something in their favor.
• I think it’s time to get started on my novel. The idea is ready, the characters, the outfit I’ll wear when Matt Lauer interviews me for the longest run on the New York Times Bestseller’s List is ready. Everything is ready to go. So what is she waiting for?
• It’s January and currently 70 degrees. Just…I don’t want the birds to come back. I just don’t.
• I think I’m in the process of killing Frederick, my plant. And I think I’m committing this tragedy willingly, all because I don’t want to get up from my chair.
• Somewhere, in the French countryside, my little cottage awaits me. I’ll have plants that will refuse to die, and a garden, and lovely neighbors that speak the kind of French that I learned in school. Not real French, of course, which I barely understand.
• Somewhere, in the middle of London, my apartment in the city awaits me. I’ll wear boots and a lot of plaid and a cool beret, and entertain lovely neighbors that don’t mind my attempts to imitate their accents.
• When we were kids, my sis and I used to pour fruit juice into nice glasses and swirl the liquid around slowly as if it were wine. We would then say things like, “Picked by a blind man with no left shoe,” before drinking. Minute Maid connoisseurs.
• I am no longer a teenager, but I sometimes go into the library and re-read favorite sections of books from my adolescence. Favorites: Ms. Judy Blume, of course, and the Anastasia Krupnik series by Lois Lowry. It helps that I look like a teenager. That keeps the real adolescents from wondering if I got lost in the library.
• I just watered Frederick. Thank goodness.

More later. My brain is moving a mile a minute. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.