splatters and portents

okay, so there was a post here. Better yet, there was a story, about how a friend offered me one of those generously open, raw moments, a sliver of her life: my world is exploding, she said. And I opened my mouth, shuffling through answers ranging from I (for idiotic) to I (for inane) and blinked, realizing that I was late for picking up the Eldest.

and said nothing, really.

Later that night, my pancake batter flung itself around the kitchen, through the pass-through, splattering the dining corner (area?), the ceilings, the cabinets, my beloved $19.99 wool jacket with the Pockets, and oh yes, me. Damn thing just exploded, I said, and then wondered why I suddenly felt like a bloody idiot.

oh. That's why.

And yes, there's more, but it's mostly variation on the me-as-idiot thing, which you've probably got by now. And yes, there was a post on this, but somehow it slid and wiggled itself into something too complex about whether I believe in signs and portents, clockmakers, and hey, a little Spinoza never hurt anybody. Except possibly a post.

All I have to say in my defense is that, if I were thorough enough to go back and check Anne Lamott, I'd probably be able to find that she was the one who warned me that being published is a nasty experience. It's given me one hell of a case of writer's block, and I firmly blame it for the theologic blather that had derailed this post. And the lecture on gender which derailed three or four posts earlier this summer. And the one on economics that solidly knocked a rather wry Eldest story on its narrative ass.

(alotted moment for self-pity happening.....here)

right, then: moving on. Oh, and before I forget -

************************

To the unknown person on the street:

Thank you for waving to the excited small boy sitting in the window seat, next to the "ART FOR SALE!!" sign. He was thrilled to be noticed.

Thank you also for not choosing to ring our doorbell, despite his enthusiastic encouragement, gesticulation and apparently ample signage.

Oh, and child o' mine? Thank you for not running to open the door, and chase that doubtless lovely person down the street. And thank you for explaining the plan to me. It's really great that you want to start earning money now, so that you can help pay for things. But maybe - just maybe - we can find a different way for you to help?

(but: I love you for trying)