So, if I'm being perfectly honest, I've toyed around with the idea of letting this blog slink off into the good night, or at least take an extended vacation. No bang, and not even much of a whimper. The busy of work, the pull of spending time with DK, the push of helping run the summer program has basically made me want to hang a little "closed" shingle up and retire to the couch with a good book for a few months.. But I miss the writing; and in a strange way, I miss myself. As much as blog writing is for the community, it also is my memory box, little missives I can go back and read to get a sense of the tenor of past years – or hell, last week.
I think I've also been extremely cognizant of the prying eyes of young ones – kids today, so tech savvy with their texting and obscure youtube videos – and I just have this subconscious niggling fear every time I post something that one of my charges will happen upon a google search that pops up this site and then it will be spread around like wildfire. Likely? Non. Terrifying? Mais oui. I mean, I'm not exactly writing about my wild times as an undercover dominatrix or anything, but still. Plus, I've already totally blown any pretense of anonymity in this place and lack the wherewithal to go back and scrub references to myself and become "Nanette" or "Ms. BS" or "Toots" or something.
At present, I'm sitting in a big ol' bed in a hotel in Los Angeles, surrounded with briefs with flags and scribbled post-in notes. Besides a good, sweaty run this morning, I've spent far too much of today both resenting the work I have to do this weekend and procrastinating from doing the work I have to do this weekend. I'm out here, after all, ostensibly to not work, but to engage in my other professional capacity as wine swiller and ass shaker (aka the summer program! It's the 4-day extravaganza of beach parties and night clubs for our little darlings . . . and me and my two cohorts!). This "real" work intrusion is a drag, man.
Last night I got in to LA after an extremely harried day in New York and met up with the whole big crew at a nearby pub around 10:00 pm. Rarely has my arrival been so enthusiastically feted: the whole place erupted in "YOOUUU!!! AHHH YOU'RE HERE!!! YOU MADE IT FINALLY! I LOVE YOOOOUUUU!" and hugs all around. It does warm a heart to be greeted thus by my kiddos, though they were all fairly snozzled at that point, so I could have been Bozo the Clown and been similarly taken into the collective bosom of the class. But secretly, I love them too. Sure, there's a dorky here and a dippy there, but overall, very good natured, hard working, smart people that I genuinely enjoy getting to know. Rarely have I laughed more. And I'd forgotten how much fun absurdly late nights can be with a big group of friends. Silly, shake your ass, sing at the top of your lungs fun. I just manage to hold on to my last vestiges of dignity by 1) refusing to do any and all shots (please, I'm a 32-year old woman; get that "lemondrop" away from me); 2) declining to engage in the exciting prospect of humiliation ala karaoke; and 3) packing it in before the real trouble starts (flexible).
So the body, she is tired. As for the brain, it's been getting pounded at work. But I offer this: I've read two excellent books in the past week. Both cry-in-public,-they're-so-good books. I was such a mess on the subway one morning getting through "The Year of Magical Thinking," that a kindly old man offered me a kleenex. And a very sweet wackadoodle girl who sat next to me on the flight yesterday offered to hold my hand (look, she was all into yoga and "opening herself up to love" and was about to go travel through India to concentrate on her songwriting – I just wanted to put her in my pocket, she was so adorable) when I snuffled for the tenth time reading "Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close." After a disappointing slog through "The Savage Detectives" (sorry baby, just not my bag), I was so ready for some totally intense, heart-full books. And I got them.
So, hi!
