So, let’s see, when last we left our heroine, she had initiated work on her novel, reaching a total of just over 17,000 words in a bit over two weeks. Unfortunately, she had also reverted to playing addictive iPad games (only twice, or for two days, before deleting FOREVER, she hopes), had developed a debilitating addiction to coffee, had said some pretty strong things about glow sticks (the people are just trying to have some fun, can you relax?), judged, possibly unfairly, modern children’s literature based on a cupcake-pooping cat, was, in the opinion of many, justified in her anger with the Sackler dynasty, and had just about pulled herself out of the annual mid-Autumn slump, yearly heightened by overconsumption of Kit Kats or their close relatives.
And there we left her. On the edge of our seats. Will she write more? Will she keep going with the blog? The posts seem to be coming less frequently, with less regularity. Perhaps another creative project that’s run out of steam? We wondered about her Beautycounter business — is network marketing really the best use of her time? We wondered if she had any thoughts about the crush of patriarchy, the potential election of Roy Moore in Alabama. We were curious as to why she didn’t replace that uncomfortable sofa.
Well, trusted readers. Wonder no more.
Sofa: WE GOT A NEW SOFA!! Call me up if you’re ever in the neighborhood. There’s somewhere to sit. Your feet don’t even have to leave the ground.
Roy Moore: Shoot. This blog isn’t close to long enough to say it all. I have been trying, with some effort, to understand the position of the people I know and love in Alabama who might consider voting for this man. They are not dumb people. They are not bad people. They are persuadable people who, like all of us at times, allow one particular issue to matter more than character. I think we all need to shake hands — all of us pretty good people, hard working, loving people who try to live as decently as we know how — and we need to agree that we’re going to vote based on character. Because I promise you there are a bunch of a-holes without character who are super duper happy to take lots of money from people who don’t give a crap about you, about your kids (in utero, one-month old, in elementary school, or at 14) and use that money to print fliers making you feel outraged about something and then laugh with their rich buddies all the way to the bank as they turn our beautiful country into a sh*t show.
That’s probably not as eloquent as I would like to be.
THE PATRIARCHY: Shoot. This blog isn’t close to long enough to say it all. But, perhaps just one short note. SO, over the weekend I read an article by a woman who was seething, raging, about the patriarchy in which we all live. You see, she had hosted Thanksgiving dinner and had had about 20 people into her home. Men and women, all decent folk. Now, what I am about to tell you may shock you, but she walked into her own bathroom, in her own home, and there was a toilet seat raised. Yes, you read that right. The seat was UP. This woman, this abused and tortured soul, had to TOUCH THE SEAT to lower it. Well, I can tell you she was livid. Beyond belief. She furiously sought her husband, rending her garments, tearing her hair, who would dare to treat her thus! In case you are not familiar with the term, patriarchy is when a culture is designed around the needs of men. So her hypothesis was that a man, by not lowering the seat for her after his use of the commode, is assuming that the way men use the toilet is the way everyone uses the toilet, or he just can’t be bothered to think about who comes next. My husband was quick to point out that every single time he uses the toilet he touches the seat not once, but twice. He must lift the seat before he uses the toilet and then replace it back again afterwards. So, to me, that sounds more like a matriarchy? I always assume the seat will be down. That works for me but not for the men in my house. So they, very courteously, both lift and lower, and then wash their hands.
I thought about women who still walk 10 miles a day to cart water back to their home on their heads so that the men can eat first and best, so that men can bathe themselves, so that men can sit and talk with their buddies, where women are forced at a young age to marry some gross old guy based on their father’s wishes — and don’t have a sink right next to the toilet (and probably some froufrou Beautycounter liquid hand soap) where they can wash their hands if there’s a seat lid up once in a blue moon.
I’m not saying we don’t have long roads to walk in this country. But I think things are pretty rough for most women AND men. And I feel this kind of indignation, over a raised toilet seat, confuses things (confuses what, well, that’s what I need to spend time writing more clearly! I have thoughts, lots of thoughts). [Significant text cut. Not ready to get all into this. Forgive me.]
Beautycounter: Promoted to Manager in November. Yes, it does take time away from my promising career as a best-selling novelist. But, truth be told, when I sat down and did a vision board to figure out my life purpose, I realized that helping more people to have dewy skin was my true calling. Everything I’ve ever done in my life, from living in tents in Africa to organizing international teams to negotiate at UN Conventions, it was all leading to this.
(I really do like it. It feels a bit like playing store and playing dress up at the same time and it gets me out of the house and meeting new people I like and washing my face. Conflicted about the industry? Perhaps. Mad as heck that companies are knowingly putting carcinogens in children’s body care products. Yep. Yes I am.)
THIS BLOG WILL NOT RUN OUT OF STEAM: But it may cut back to a twice-monthly schedule to keep up with the demands of my novel writing and cosmetics pushing. Stay tuned. Maybe I will figure something out around the New Year.
Novel: Current word count is 17,090 words. And if you’re paying very close attention and are even just adequate at math you will recognize that this marks an advancement of zero words since my last post. Yes, I do have a good excuse. It’s that I stopped writing when my mom came to town before Thanksgiving and now I just don’t exactly know how to get started again. That’s not fair to you because it isn’t the whole story (mom came, dad came, Dave got home, Thanksgiving, mom left, I don’t remember a few days, Sam got sick, I stopped drinking coffee, I don’t remember more days. I sold cosmetics. I listed coins on Ebay. I wanted to write. I volunteered in Sam’s class. I saw a friend. I helped a neighbor. I cleaned some dishes.)
I have committed to get to 25,000 words on the novel by the end of this month. A reachable goal. Also to write two blog posts (one almost done) and to finish reading Don Quixote. I’m only about a hundred pages in but I can see why people make such a fuss about this book. I mean, if you are a huge book nerd probably. You might not like it otherwise. I laugh out loud every night and profess my unending love for Cervantes. I MIGHT be more in love with him than with E.B. White. Let me get to the end first. I’m sorry E.B., I still love you. Forever. But… we’ll see.
Parting words: I really like writing to you. Thanks for reading. I hope I haven’t written anything too stupid or offensive. I’m trying to work some things out.