three hundred words

That’s all. I just want to write three hundred words here today. If I manage more, that’s cool. My motivation for exercise (yoga and running both), writing (obviously), housework (ick), and just about everything else, is at a spectacularly low point. It brings to mind my daughter’s violent aversion to getting out of bed in the morning.

The only activity in which I seem to be interested is reading. Which I’m doing compulsively, to the detriment of sleep. Last week was a not-worth-naming fantasy and a twisted, brilliant murder myster by John Burdette called Bangkok 8. If you need linear plotlines, don’t bother. I started reading it because of a brief mention in a travel article on Slate. And it takes place in Thailand, which is predominantly Buddhist. The blurbs also mentioned that the protagonist has visions. Hmm. Murder, vice, prostitution, drug use, Buddhism and mysticism? Sounds right up my dark and scary alley.

Freaky book. Fun, but freaky. Some passages are snortably funny: “He will be reborn as the flea in the anus of a cockroach” or something like it, made me cackle in a quite inappropriate and satisfying manner. (I was at work on my lunch hour and was feeling very subversive.)

Our local library likes to set up displays of books in monthly featured subjects. This month is travel. The book that caught my eye was The Cruelest Journey by Kira Salak. “A real-life Lara Croft” said the blurb. A journey to Timbuktu by kayak on the Niger River. Insane. Irresistable. A pure coincidence that she’s a practicing Buddhist, right? Sure. Whatever.

In other bookish news, you may have seen mentioned recently a potentially popular series in the tradition of Harry Potter – the new Harry Potter?! scream the headlines. Boy archaeologist, journey to adulthood, blah blah blah. I know this has been said before, but it’s worth saying again: Where are the young female protagonists?

Speaking of, I’m pleased to see that the film version of The Golden Compass will be out in December. Lyra develops into one of my favorite characters.

I was wondering, has first person present suddenly become the voice of choice for modern-day writers? I don’t know when I first started to notice this, but it seems to be everywhere these days.

*****

Great. 347.

*****

Caffeine in the evenings has got to stop. It makes me mean as a snake, and I seem to have the least control around my always-testing, button-pushing daughter. It’s just not a feasible option for staying awake anymore. But when the sun starts to go down, I’m ready to crawl in bed and be done with the day. Obviously, that’s not a feasible option either.

If I can manage a couple of afternoon workouts, that might help.

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Always on the lookout for weekend family activities, we went to the Blue Ridge BBQ Festival in Tryon last weekend. It was a different world for me, and not altogether comfortable. Fewer hippies than LEAF, and – strangely – no men in skirts. Even Brian refrained from wearing his kilt.

The barbeque, however, was excellent. Ice cream, not so much. Fireworks? Meh. Duck was pleased, but I doubt I will ever be satisfied with country fireworks, unless they’re coordinated by Gandalf himself. To be fair, Brian pointed out that there’s only so much they can do, given the severe drought. Even with a restrained show, the fire trucks were on their way as soon as the show was over. Preventive measures? One can hope.

But I remember New York City fireworks, Philadelphia fireworks, huge productions choreographed to the music of live symphonic orchestras. The kind of fireworks best appreciated lying flat on your back, hands over your ears to block out the explosions that rock your body to the core. Fantastic. The local stuff, especially the fireworks that our neighbors like to shoot off, just tends to annoy me and gives my dog panic attacks. Not fun.

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Garden has been assaulted by slugs. Toads are slack bastards. Basil seedlings are now pre-teens, with deep green leaves, nice thick stems, just too tempting for words. I’ll keep them in pots for the summer to avoid the greedy slugs.

Growth of the plants in the bed has been somewhat disappointing, but then again they’ve only been in there a month. I fertilized yesterday (“that smells like poop, mama!”) so we’ll see if I did the plants any good or if I screwed up and burned the roots. I was in a hurry towards the end.

Last week I celebrated a good check-up and happy blood tests (cholesterol levels, etc.) with a big slab of salmon. Marinated in lemon juice, olive oil, lemon balm, chives, parsley, three kinds of basil and a bit of thyme. Yummy. Brian was impressed, and is suddenly eyeing the basil plants with avaricious intent. I had to stop him from early harvesting yesterday. I can’t blame him for being disappointed, but there’s a vendor at the local tailgate market who sells larger basil plants. I’m sick of waiting and it’s almost time for tomatoes. I’ll get a couple this weekend.

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885. Cool. Now if I can do that twice a week, I’ll be getting somewhere. I don’t know where, but… well, you get the idea