Oh dear

It is not unusual to forget a password for a seldom-used site, but, just now, filled with purpose, I opened a nice new browser window and realized that that I could not remember the name of the company that hosts this site in order to get to the login page. This is a pretty bad sign. I had to look up random lists of "website builders" on Google and hope for the best. Turns out they make it to the number two slot on someone's ten best list, so congratulations, website people!  You seem to have been doing a fine job in my absence.

Am I back because I have something to say?  Not at all!  Don't be silly.  I am here because of these three things:

  1.  I recently got my annual bill for this site.  (Wait. What?  You pay for this site?  This site that you never use?  Are you stupid?  Oh!  Or maybe a millionaire?  That must be it. You're a lazy millionaire?)  Shh.  Be nice.  I do pay for this site and I've calculated that it would be a crazy, magnificent bargain if I were to write something 8 times a month. That seems a very achievable goal. Like many achievable goals, success requires beginning.  (Again.)
     
  2. One of my colleagues asked if she could show one of my storytelling videos to her creative nonfiction class.  Well, if I'm going to be a role model for the youth of America, I had better actually do some work. Not that I'm hoping a bunch of our students takes to reading my blog, but I'd like to be able to walk around with a certain creative nonfiction swagger and not be faking it. Everyone knows authentic literary swaggers are better. There is also a long and storied tradition of the authentic literary stagger, but I don't think I'll try to cultivate that ones.
     
  3. I got a plaintive request from an overwhelmed friend who wishes to have this specific procrastination tool available to her. That was the clincher, actually. Who can resist a plea from a beloved procrastinator? One who has, on more than one occasion, provided you with cake?  Exactly.  So here I am.
     

When last we met, I was complaining about a variety of things that are no longer true. I am taking this to mean that if you complain, bad things go away. This is fantastic news, obviously. I am aces at complaining.  I would like to tell you that the main change is that I have become a model of fitness, not just cutting an enviable figure in any frock of my choice, but also able to heft steamer trunks over my head with ease, and, even better, able to perambulate about the metropolis without subsequently feeling like I may need to amputate my right leg.  Steel yourself for disappointment.  None of that is true. I do complain about the pain in my leg nearly constantly, though, so that should be improving any minute now.

Nevertheless!  There are good tidings.

My erstwhile boyfriend is back to being my current boyfriend with no erst at all. He is still very inconveniently located on a distant continent, but one can't have everything. I am hopeful that we have learned the error of our ways and will now live happily ever after, since I watched all eight seasons of "House" after our last breakup and am not sure what I'd do if we broke up again.  "Game of Thrones" isn't even available streaming.

Also, are you sitting down?  You should sit down. This is major.  The Upstairs Baby moved away (he took his parents too).  They moved away in AUGUST and there is still no one living upstairs.  On one hand, this means that when someone does move in, I will be the most miserable person in town, since I've completely accustomed myself to the joys of having no one overhead. It is magical. On the other hand, I cannot believe my good fortune. How can an apartment in my neighborhood stand empty for over three months?  I really don't know.  Possibly, it's because the rent is listed at $4,200.  In another city that would be the obvious answer, but here, it may be something else.  An ancient curse that was only recently reawakened when they mended the retaining walls in the back yard?  Something like that.

Anyway, pray for light-footed, kind-hearted, slipper-clad tenants of the future. Maybe some childless mimes?  Or monks with a silent meditation practice?  One very wealthy eccentric who has vowed to devote the next decade to reading lengthy works of classic literature?  I'm scared of who may be next.  There have been roommates at the open houses.  I recently realized that I fear roommates even more than babies. Roommates stay up a lot later and have more company than babies.   My next door neighbor and I send each other panicked emails after each open house.  Yes. We spy through our peepholes. Don't pretend you wouldn't.  These interlopers hold our lives in their hands.

Do you live in a house?  Sharing walls only with people who actually live with you?  Go do a jig of smugness for a minute.  I'll wait.

Actually, you can just carry on. I think that's enough for one day.