I’m coping with leaving St. Louis. DC’s “smashburgers” are a joke, and the barbecue doesn’t come close, but I’m dealing.
What makes it harder is that this freakin’ city is haunting me. It’s St. Louis. No one ever talks about St. Louis (except when the news is blowing a riot way out of proportion or pulling stats on murder rates, of course). So *why* are mentions of it cropping up everywhere?
Watching The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, a passing side-comment of a scene, a family mentions moving to Missouri. Then confirms they’re going to St. Louis for work.
A medical podcast I listen to had an episode about the time Chicago reversed its river, literally dumping its shit on St. Louis (and ruining the Mississippi River for over a century. Thanks, Chicago).
Then I’m helping my boss with something when we’re interrupted by a spam sales call. He says they’re always calling him, these people in St. Louis.
My husband also got a recent StitchFix delivery that included a shirt from St. Louis. How serendipitous!
I get these aren’t big deals, and my husband says I only notice *because* I’m on the lookout for St. Louis references. Maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t change the fact that I am trying to move on, and St. Louis refuses to let me!
This is a note I found in my phone (because I like to keep a record of some of the–usually cute, sometimes funny–things that happen in my marriage) and I know it’s short and kind of pointless, but it’s January and life is hard this time year meaning my brain doesn’t always work the way I want it to SO this is all you get.
Charlie and I went on a dusky stroll and a bug landed on my hand. Rather than swat it and smear bug guts everywhere, I tried to daintily flick it away. My flick EXPLODED the bug so there were guts all over the back of my hand and each time I tried to flick them off, they stuck to my fingers. So both hands were contaminated, then OF COURSE my eye started to itch so I made Charlie take me home.
Oh, hey, guys! So, turns out 2018 is practically OVER. When did this happen? I seriously feel like I blinked at the Thanksgiving dinner table and suddenly December is more than half-finished.
Ever happen to anyone else?
I’m staying on top of the borderline panic that builds with each day I *don’t* notice ripping off the calendar by burying my head farther into the sand and pretending life isn’t speeding right on past. And by sand, I mean my book–the one I simultaneously feel so incredibly proud of and also want to douse in kerosene and light on fire (metaphorically, of course. While I have plenty of hard-copy drafts, the heart of it lives in my laptop and have you SEEN what computers cost these days??). Most days, I’m so excited about this story that is a living, breathing thing taking over my soul that I want to start posting excerpts and side stories on my blog so I can get more people loving it too.
Before you start saying “yes, please!” (Mom–looking at you), I’ve got to admit I’m nowhere near ready. I thought I had a really great, polished draft to give to a technical-writer-friend to look over for the mechanical stuff (and to tell me if the story is in fact good) and not halfway through sending her chapters, I’ve already changed so much. And that’s both exciting and disheartening, because I want so badly for it to be out of me already, but I also want it to be perfect–or as perfect as it can ever be.
Damn, there I go ranting about my book again. I just wanted to pop in and say, ‘hey, I survived NaNoWriMo and it was awful.’ I guess I’ll save that for another post. For now I’m going to go pretend I’m *not* stress-sweating over the fact that Christmas is next week (um, how??). If I don’t get another post out before the New Year (at this rate, I’ll be happy to get myself to the New Year), have a glorious Christmas, a magnificent Candlenights, an enjoyable Festivus, and a fantastic New Year. (PS SORRY I MISSED CHANUKAH, I HOPE IT WAS WONDERFUL–we did get most of the candles lit but I’m pretty sure the grinch stole a couple nights in the middle. That’s the only explanation for this lost time.)
We went to Union Loafers in Tower Grove for pizza and it was a) delicious b) floppy (from grease) c) a close second-favorite behind the U.R.B. pizza or d) ALL OF THE ABOVE
yes the answer is D and also I had TWO dee-licious sour beers by Stillwater which I cannot remember nor pronounce the name of but here we are.
Somehow upon entering our apartment, I started singing “Screamer” by Good Charlotte, and that sent me down a crazy, spiraling rabbit-hole of old school Good Charlotte that has made me so happy in my buzzed state.
UPDATE: the hubs is playing some remixed song that I get to croon Creed-style to the chorus: hold me now, I’m six feet from the edge and I’m thinkkiiingg…
This post has no point. Sorry for your time.