Christy The Writer

The husband comes back from his business trip tonight. I guess it’s just as well. When he’s gone I find myself having full-blown conversations with the cat. Plus when he’s home I actually cook dinner instead of just serving, you know, gin.

I just saw someone using this, like … PHONE thing, except it was hanging on the WALL outside this restaurant. And I was like… whoa, dude. Who you talking to? 1993?

The husband has split for awhile, so that means a couple of key things:

1. I can watch a marathon of Nora Ephron movies without any disparaging remarks in the background

2. I can finally keep the apartment at a comfortable 86 degrees, instead of his preferred thermostat setting, which is “meat locker.”

The horn went out on my car. I didn’t even know horns COULD go out, but of course mine found a way. It’s not completely out, actually, it just makes this anemic little *whut* sound. Now when I push the panic button on my key fob to find my car in the parking lot, I just listen for what sounds like a Wizard of Oz munchkin with a caffeine problem.

Yesterday I spent a small fortune on anti-wrinkle, skin-plumping, fine-line-reducing, fill-in-the-creases, punch-mother-nature-in-the-face skin cream. This morning when I was getting dressed for work, I summarily rejected a short skirt with tights and flats because I didn’t want it to seem like I was trying to look young.

I’m going through a serious bout of insomnia. Not being able to sleep is bad enough, but I know I’m in big trouble when it’s 2 a.m. and my brain goes, “Oh good, you’re up. I got a list of stuff we need to worry about. Let’s get started.”

My friend Erika and I have decided that when you are having one of those days in which everything is turning to crap, the only real course of action is to drop everything and go watch The Golden Girls. Or, as we call it, Plan Bea.

I am in a place right now where I am so inspired, so driven to write that I am almost paralyzed. My mind is churning and I have that excited feeling in my gut that I used to get when I was a kid, except then it meant that it was Christmas Eve or we were having a big snowstorm on a Sunday night and I knew the chances of school the next day were yahoo! None.

But now when I get that feeling, it generally means I’m on the verge of writing something big. I won’t say great because that will make me sound like some kind of  narcissistic writer with an overblown sense of her own talent, and while we all know I am, I certainly don’t want to sound that way.

I’ll let you know when I’ve written it. Whatever it is.

I was at the library earlier, using their printer since mine is on the blink. Halfway through the print job, the printer ran out of paper. I approached the reference librarian to ask:

“Is there any paper for the printer?”

To which she responded:

“The paper is already in the printer.”

Going through some of my dad’s old records over the holidays, I found this. Please take note of the full name of the album. Epic fail.