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Day 19 – Somedays you just don’t feel like writing

I’m tired. Must go to bed. Can’t concentrate right now. Have to play/feed/watch the baby. 

Ah, I could come up with a million different excuses to not blog. I guess this is progress, since I really just want to sleep, Vanilla’s asleep, my son’s asleep, and the dogs are now snoring in unison, but I am up, writing. Yay me!

I wanted to make a list earlier of all the things you can do with one hand.

Not that, you pervert!

Things to do with one hand while your other one’s tied up holding a sleeping baby:

– You could blog very slowly. It would be your longest blog entry yet – in terms of time it took to write it.

– Sweep. Getting the pile of dust and dirt into the trashcan is another story.

– Furminate a well-behaved dog.

– Sort through mail.

– Facebook.

– Tweet.

– Make to-do lists.

– Read.

– Sort laundry.

Wow. The things you can do one-handed really suck.

My friends from college are visiting me in August and I can’t wait. I haven’t seen them in exactly 10 years. I wonder if I’ve changed more, or if they have. They seem the same on Facebook, although I know they’ve also been living their lives since we graduated. One went through a marriage and a divorce. The other one seems the same, although she lives in Maine for some odd reason.

A couple years ago I found out my ex, who I’ll call Nair*, turned into a heroin addict and had to move back home. I briefly dated him while going to school in Madison, WI. Turns out we both moved to the Bay Area. We met up for five minutes but I was drunk and ended up ignoring him at the bar we met up at, each of us surrounded by our respective buddies. But apparently over the years while I was getting my law degree, he was spiraling downward. Our mutual friend told me a couple of years ago Nair was homeless and ended upI back in MN, living with his parents and attending rehab. I found him on Facebook for the first time today. He looked chubby and was posing next to a girl in a graduation gown and holding a kid.

Life goes on.

*Nair is the name I am giving him because when we had sex, I noticed he had no armpit hair! In fact, he was pretty smooth all over, which made me wonder if he, at age 18 or 19, had hit puberty. My childhood friends hated him though, and would probably nickname him something like DJ (Douchey Jew) or worse if they had their way with my blog; thank god they don’t.




I used to think being an attorney was a tough job. Then I had kids.

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