It’s been a while here, friends. I’m in the midst of an epic writer’s block with a big ol’ order of zero motivation on the side. Any subject I’d ramble on about these days I’ve done to death already. I recognize in my conversations with friends and coworkers how I’ve become very one-note. Accident blah-blah-blah, work blah-blah-blah, muscular dystrophy blah-blah-blah. Blah. Maybe it’s just this hideously dreary time of year? Winter can barely even be bothered to rear its ugly head in any assertive fashion–a dusting of snow here and there, temps in the 30s and 40s. Even Mother Nature is all meh.
Being one-note is one thing, and being aware of it adds a level of well, shit. I want to write and write well, but manufacturing the time to accomplish that is no small feat as we settle into the wonder years. We are in the process of buying a new car, and can’t even get to the dealership because of the kids’ nightly after-school activities. No lie, one or more family members has something going each and every night for two straight weeks. You really are left to wonder just where the hell the time goes! I love, love, love that the boys have music and sports and am fully committed to their rehearsals and practices–it’s what good parents do, right? But the transportation hither and yon cuts into my connected think time. And, keepin’ it real? The acme of my “think time” has long passed.
In the absence of substance, I’ll give ya an updated installment of My Life In Texts, where I at least periodically hit a high note, and when I miss, my friends positively crush it! You can find the first version of a text-filled post by clicking here.
Hoping to avoid human interaction while walking the dog in the early AM and running into my stunning neighbor, Kathie.
When someone does someone else’s work for her and that person trash-talks it, commenting that “Well, you tried.” Yeah, well YOU DIDN’T!!
I think we can all agree that whatever my friend thought was more important couldn’t possibly be.
Totally eavesdrop-worthy. I should have brought popcorn. I caught the whole tale, and while it left me with no cliffhanger, there was just a bit of a twist at the ending.
When my bro and sis-in-law visited last fall, we enjoyed some killer brunch at Toast, whose mugs are my perfect size. My brother seems to believe I lead a life of petty restaurant theft.
It really is.
Your drunk poet. Get your asses to Cincinnati or to your grocers’ freezer for Graeters Ice Cream, you guys. I am not overstating the magnificence of their chocolate ganache roll-ups.
I’m not the cheeriest gal in the office, but there was that one day when I was the fourth cheeriest instead of fifth. #squadgoals
Antonio Brown getting cut by the Patriots early last season. My bro called the signing AND the release.
When middle schoolers make exceptionally uninformed decisions.
I mean, they have a pool, so. . .
I can’t even state with any degree of confidence that I make a ton of valuable contributions at the opening bell for that matter anymore.
I didn’t say all the texts were fun. As I read up some of my text threads, I was reminded of how much has changed–from nightmarish Emergency Medicine horror show to rehabilitation darling of Froedtert and the Medical College of Wisconsin.
Stick with brown, Wendy.
But a distant memory. . .
I included this for Sally’s response after I crashed and burned in spectacular fashion, spraining my ankle at Target Field. Top 5 text messages of all time.
Cheers to our lord and savior, Lin-Manuel Miranda (thank Sally for that one too). Hamilton. Hamilton! It is so damn good.
My coworkers visited me at the hospital while Tom was in neurosurgery. I’d “slept” at the hospital the night before at his request, so wasn’t at my fresh, daisies and rainbows-scented best. Not my finest hour.
It was bizarre how I sought balance with the most gruesome details of my husband’s many medical diagnoses and intensive care.
Not super coherent and I talk too much. Probably I should have that printed on a tee shirt.