Flood Porn

I feel bad, because, as much as flooding along the Mississippi (or anywhere, for that matter) upsets me, there’s this part of me that, when it hears “This terrible thing could happen!” is like “Bring it on! Let’s see it!” It’s a small part, but it’s there.

So, I admit that I am fascinated by the chance that this could be the moment the Mississippi drops down the Atchafalaya and abandons New Orleans. It’s not that I think New Orleans deserves this or that Morgan City does. I know it would be devastating. But I am also incapable of not wanting, just a little, to see it.

I guess because I suspect that, at the end of the day, much is beyond our control.

Anyway, at that link up there is a cool article about it.

I Am Boring

I was telling the Professor at lunch yesterday, after she asked me how the manuscript was going, that I’m afraid I’m becoming boring, because that’s all I talk about. And I was just sitting here thinking about what I should blog about and I was like, ugh, dog walking, tv watching, intestinal issues of my own doing, songs I like, things I feel passionately about.

I’ve got nothing.

I could tell you about how the Butcher and I have been pissed at the cats, thinking they were peeing somewhere they shouldn’t be, only to discover it was a pair of my socks stinking up the whole house.

But that’s all I’ve got going on.

It’s good to have boring moments, I guess, but damn. I am boring lately.

Oh, but I will tell you all a sad thing. Remember when I thought I saw a ghost in my back yard? And, on my list of reasons it wasn’t just some neighbor guy is that I live in a predominately black neighborhood and so know there are no white guys that age that live around here?

Well, right before Easter–and if you know how my Easter went, you can understand how this slipped off my radar–I saw him again, jogging on Lloyd. He’s someone’s dad, who doesn’t live here but visits. Seemingly undead. Um, not dead.

So, that was disappointing.

The Itching

I love gardening. It does not love me. Ticks, mosquito bites, some kind of rash that’s not poison ivy, but is some kind of contact something.

I was feeling sorry for myself so I had Ben & Jerry’s for dinner, but… yeah… not a good idea, which also made me feel sorry for myself that I have to accept that the days of ice cream for dinner are over.

We did watch Robin Hood last night, which was… um… not good. It was hard to put my finger on exactly what was not good about it, but the whole movie had a “I’m at a particularly unpleasant renaissance fair” air about it. I kept wishing Russell Crow and Cate Blanchett had been in a better movie.

But still, if I had to rank movies I’ve seen lately, I’d put this behind Teeth, which was hilarious, and Scott Pilgrim,which had a good beat I could dance to.

Work on the novel is weirdly slow and fast. Things I thought would take me a long time are going okay. Things that seemed simple enough are, I’m finding, actually kind of difficult on a screen this small–I literally can’t see the spots on screen where my smart quotes are facing the wrong way, for instance.

Ha, or my eyesight is a lot worse than I want to admit. Either one.

We’re in the middle of a cicada outbreak here in Middle Tennessee, but, so far, here in Whites Creek, on this little acre, we’ve been able to count the cicadas on one hand and still have the majority of our fingers left over. I saw one on Sunday. The Butcher met one at the door last night.

I don’t know if they’re just slow to get going in our part of town or if we’re going to miss them.

I’m hoping for “miss them.”

Anyway, I’m trying not to be overly optimistic, but I think I may still meet my goal of sending out at least my first query by my birthday. We’ll see.

I just want this, folks, as much as I’ve ever wanted anything, for as long as I can remember, I have wanted this.

This is just the first time in my life–and honestly, I can’t say what changed–where it seemed plausible to me.

I know I get mushy on you guys. And frankly, you should be glad I can’t drink like I used to, because I would totally get drunk and throw my arms around you guys and tell you how much I love you, no, really, really love you, in ways that would be embarrassing and uncomfortable.

But if not for this, here, blogging, I don’t know that I would have ever gotten to this, here, novel-writing.

I really want this next part to go well.

Here’s hoping.