Yikes. Looking over Puddintopia for the past few days, one thing is abundantly clear: I have been a bad, neglectful blogger. I think I promised once that I’d try very hard not go days at a time without posting…something. But, here it is Monday and I haven’t put up anything new since Thursday. It’s like I took the weekend off or something, and clearly that’s not okay. I’m not saying I need to be chained to a keyboard and forced to make with the words like that guy in “Misery” or anything—which is good, because both the Puddinette and I both prefer me un-hobbled—but going three days and giving you nothing is just wrong, wrong, wrong.
You’ll be glad to hear that I haven’t simply been lazing away comfortably these past few days, putting a permanent ass-crease into my recliner and fondling my universal remote with greasy pizza hands, or being fed grapes from scantily clad-serving girls, Roman-style. I mean, let’s face it, if I was going to be fed anything from scantily-clad anyone, it’d probably be cheese coneys from Oompa Loompas in bikinis. I think we can all be thankful that’s not happening.
Also, you’re welcome for the mental picture. Bleach for you brain can be found in aisle 12.
Anyway, the thing is, two separate events came together and waylaid my bloggery the past few days. First, in case you missed my near-incessant spouting of progress reports on twitter, facebook, and Google+, as well as via sandwich board at that sketchy street corner where the commuter-targeted panhandling operation works, I’m nearing the end of the first draft of my now-not-so-fledgling novel. I figure I’ve got two or three thousand words left to write before it’s finished. I’ve written the climax even, so there’s nothing left but a little denouement—which I think is French for “don’t leave me hanging”—and it’ll be time to get out the red editing pen and shiny word buffer to give everything a healthy sheen just like your Golden Retriever.
That’ll be a whole different kind of painful, btw, but we’re not going to think about that mountain yet.
The other thing cutting into Puddintopia time is, of course, the start of school. I know I rambled on about it last week, so I’m not going to beat that particular horse again. Well, until next year. The point, though, is that the start of school isn’t just that one thing. If it was only school, that’d be okay. But it’s not. It’s the cornucopia of other stuff that just happens to coincide with the start of school. That includes, but is not limited to:
- the start of once-a-week supplemental religious indoctrination classes for the kids, which are necessary because the Puddinette and I are terrible heathen Catholics that send our children to those devilishly secular public schools (hey, I went to ‘em, by gum, and there’s nothing wrong—well, diagnosable, at least—with me).
- weeknight dance classes
- Cub Scouts
- Daffodil or Peony or Rhododendron Scouts—or whatever you call Brownie (scout?) girls before they take to the chocolate-color smock
- maybe some karate
- eventually probably some basketball
- who knows what else.
It’s a lot to go from summer evenings spent lounging barefoot in the backyard as the sun drops below the horizon to the full-on regular school year routine for a family of six. So, from now until at least Labor Day, each weeknight is going to be a confused series of near catastrophe until we all settle into a schedule.
In the meantime, I’ll be a good writer and will keep my nose to the grindstone, I promise. Luckily, the application of a beer or two will smooth over the inevitable bumpy roads up ahead.
If only the Oompa Loompas would pour it down my throat for me.