I’d like to blog more. I don’t know if I will. I feel a quiet in the blogging world that makes me sad. It feels like a place of nostalgia rather than a place that screams now, now. So, I figured I’d plant myself here, find my way back in, as urgently as I can, with a currently post.
Tina Fey’s latest, The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. I am trying to pace myself when it comes to this show. Even though I don’t want to pace myself. I want to watch it all in one wonderful, hyper-color, fluorescent sitting. In the words of my own pithy twitter status, this show is everything. To elaborate: smart, charming, optimistic, positive, and, above all, hilarious. It makes me smile. It improves my mood. The world needs Kimmy Schmidt. We are lucky to have her.
We Are Not Ourselves by Matthew Thomas. After last year’s mishap with my reading list, I decided to participate on Goodreads. If you want to know what I’m reading, I hope you’ll join me there, here.
To Sia. Podcasts, podcasts, and more podcasts. Death, Sex, & Money, The Longest Shortest Time, This American Life, Pop Culture Happy Hour… the list goes on and on. Little O’s babble, a steady dadadada, tatatata, bababa chant. Long ago it was mamamama but, sigh, he’s moved on.
Cakes. Novels (I finished a first draft of a new book last week.) Essays.
Restless. Ready. As I’ll ever be. As I’ve been.
My revisions. And a weekend trip with one of my favorite friends, away from the little ones.
Green things pushing through the dirt, past the winter we’ve had, letting themselves be known. Time with family and warm weather down South, where I spent the past few days among even more green, like the live oaks above, finally feeling, not cold. The moments when I’m alone, sitting, thinking, staring out a window or in the dark or tucked in bed and I think of Little O and something runs through me, from my toes to my chest. A love surge.