First I need to apologize to the other ladies who were participating in the (Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child) book club, and especially to Cindy, for the way I flaked out. By way of excuse, I can only say that I felt “sick again, just plain sick to death of the sound of my own voice.” The Internet suddenly seemed as large as it really is, and the noise, especially my own noise, was just too much. Then after I got over that, I couldn’t return to talking about the book because I didn’t feel like being careful or precise in my words. I just wanted to scream, “BLAH, BLAH, BLAH! BLAH! AND BLAH!” I don’t think it was any reflection on the book but just my own weirdness. I’m sure there must be medication for people like me. So, if anyone still cares, I finished the book. I got some good stuff out of it, felt validated in some places where I’d already reached the same conclusions, and discarded anything useless.
In other news, my husband’s job burned down two weeks ago. He’s been looking for work and has a couple of leads to potential part-time employment, but I just really want to blow this taco stand. The taxes, the high cost of living, the ridiculous mortgage, the tiny yard, the I.H.I.P., quarterly reports and end-of-year assessments are all working together to make this an OK place to visit. Where’s a nice place to live?