Pathetic excuses

Whew!

I feel like I’ve been running a marathon for the entire summer. We were in limbo for so long with The House of Never-ending Construction, we’d neglected the Real World. And Linguini on the Ceiling.

We’ve been playing catch up and it’s been exhausting.

First there were all those dinners we promised to people “once we’re in the new house.” Not that anyone was keeping score (other than us), but we were kind of anxious to play with our new cooking stuff. Okay, I was anxious to play with my new cooking stuff, though look where that got me (gross photo alert)… (It’s much better, thank you JAG. I think scarring will be minimal, in spite of what the doctor warned me about).

(As a side note: We need to schedule a Second Bloggers Convention West or something or we will all descend into social atrophy. Okay – I will descend into social atrophy. Besides, I have White Trasherati’s birthday present and I’m not mailing it because I don’t do packages because that requires social interaction with a postal employee and my family doesn’t do package mailings because if you have to mail a package that means the person isn’t as important to you otherwise you’d make it a point to give it to them in person at some contrived event like, say, a Bloggers’ Convention West. The Bros have threatened to infiltrate the next one in view of the fact that JAG is afraid of them. This means that John Boy will, therefore, be afraid of her and Dark Garden will laugh at her for showing weakness. Welcome to the hell that is my family.)

And then there is good ol’ Spot-On which, I’m afraid, gets all my best ideas, even when those ideas fall flat because I dis’ed a show I’d never seen. (Don’t ever do that, by the way. People are very protective about their favorite shows.)

And then there is Fair Week. If you live in a rural area, you know that during county fair week, all things other than the fair come to a screeching halt. Me, I work a church food stand during fair week. I leave early, come home late, scrape the grease from my skin, shower and go to bed. I don’t even venture to my office, which is a long, long walk from the rest of the house, to write, let alone read, blogs.

School starts next week, which means the county takes over shuttling Heir 2 back and forth into town at ridiculous times. There’s 18 hours a day right there.

I hope that means I can be back in contact with everyone and that suddenly a flood of writing ideas will flow through my brain.

At least I’ll save on gas.