Today has been all about paint. We’re painting the entire inside of the house, so we bought a paint sprayer.

Look, if you want a paint sprayer, and you’re at Home Depot, and there they are, and they are shiny, and you think they’d save you days, maybe weeks of work, and they’d fit in your shopping cart, and they don’t seem that expensive, well….

Don’t do it. I mean it, don’t buy one.

Just use rollers and a brush or two. And if you don’t believe me, come over. You can borrow mine. You can HAVE mine. Let me know, it’s yours.

Because I’m just letting the paint dry in the tube, I care that much.

Just took a nap, and dreamed that we were in the new place, it was a wreck, the washer and dryer were not there, but all kinds of big old appliances and furniture were. Light fixtures were dangling, water was pooled in the basement.

I just have to quit watching those home improvement shows, you know the ones where a home inspector comes out and finds really bad things. Or the ones where a dewy eyed young couple are shopping for their first home, but they don’t have much money, so they have to see some real dumps. This dream was based on that, I think. That, and too many hot dogs.

I’m here at the condo and it’s late, and dark outside.

I get a knock at door, I’m told that next time my husband calls someone a fascist have him read this.

It’s the declaration of independence.

save me, this place is insane. goodnight.


My friend Alanna gave me some advice as to how to keep this thing going. She’s probably the most consistent blogger I know, managing to blog even when she’s at her most busy. I admire that, and I appreciate her tips.

At any rate, it’s summer and I feel more creative than I have in a long time. I feel optimistic, which I think the long cold winter robbed from me.

And so, to end this, a list. The things I’m spending my time on for the next few weeks:

1. Finishing my latest book
2. Painting my new house 6 different colors
3. Moving
4. Getting the condo ready for my renters
5. Worrying about money
6. Losing weight.
7. Wondering why I’m always trying to lose weight and never succeeding.
8. Flying to CA for a wedding
9. Completely remodeling my new kitchen
10. Figuring out what to do next, which probably means serious job hunt.

I was the second and last born child in my family. And lately I’ve been thinking about what that means in terms of any fame my older sibling achieves. I don’t doubt he’s worthy, but I do doubt he’s estimated my abilities as the equal of his. This is not an estimable frame of mind to be in if you are the older sibling. I think (not that I know, being always the second and last child) that being the first born gives you teeth and claws, ready to be called upon should number two or three threaten your dominance in any major way.

–24 hours later, and I have no idea where I was going with that. I think I had far too much sun.

Hi, I’ve missed you. I’ve been writing a new book, I’ve bought a house. How are you?

Me:
1. I drink too much diet soda.
2. I’m looking for my next major project.
3. I’m moving into a 1923 Craftsman style house. Both creaky and glorious.
4. My new book is finishing up now, due out this fall. Buy it!
5. I think I’m done writing tech books for a while. I need a more dependable source of income.
6. It’s hot in here. I’m panting in front of a fan.
7. I’m finally going to start writing fiction instead of tech books. Go me.
8. Honest, I want to blog more regularly, but it’s just so hard. Do you?
9. Do you?
10. No really, do you? If you do, tell me how you manage it.

The new book is out, and I’ve started the next. But this time, I’m doing it correctly. I’m quitting most of my little jobs and focusing only on writing.

The hardest thing about quitting is the feeling that I’m letting other people down. They’ll get over it.

I’ve been absent for … oh, a long time. I’m sorry. I have friends who stop by occasionally and I shouldn’t let them down. They’re friends, after all.

So here’s what’s new with me: I”m finishing my best computer book ever, the one that might make me semi-famous. This book, this book..where do I start? I hate it, I love it. It makes me want to write fiction.

The book will be done (at last) in just a few weeks. Then I’ll take a big trip, and then I’ll begin writing another one. My life feels as though it is describable in little boxes, each taking a chunk out of the life I have left to me. I want to feel immortal again but I’m too damn old. Help!

Give me back ten years, I’ll do better with them this time around.
-Me

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