It started small, they always do. Turn the T.V. off a half hour before sleeping. Insist boy that buying a rug will indeed make his pad more homey. Just say no, a thousand times to Vegas, only to be bamboozled into it, and watch as boy unceremoniously takes it out on the rug.
Work on Children's Book until I get back my oldie but goodie (that's Saturday). Listen to new music (Handsome Furs, that new Eminem song--I'm not kidding it's just great). Make a lot of wine dates with various factions of still-employed girls. Write a really bold email proposing a job to a place that's not hiring (that's how I roll). Spend the weekend eating sushi and playing Wii. Hooray for Super Smash Bros. No longer wonder why I want to write Children's Books.
Talk my parents to taking the family out to lunch at Chanterelle (you have not lived until you've tried the grilled Seafood Sausage) now that the economy has made it, for the first time in the restaurant's 30 year history, possible to order a la carte.
Get asked to buy a dirt bike for my interview subject. Promise him it can be so, only if he picks up his other bandmate in NY and drives back to their home, cross country, with snot streaming on their cheeks a la Dumb and Dumber style. Do not hear about dirt bike again.
Try to want to see any of the Oscar award movies. Say to myself that's selling out to see them just because they're recognized even though I'm not as interested as I should be. Listen to Lady GaGa instead and hang my head in shame.
Keep browsing overstock.com. The wishlist on there is as long as a wedding registry. Consume inordinate amounts of White Tea. Decide honey can be used as a condiment for anything.
Buy a new pen. That's the reality here, people. This is revelatory.
Email about an apartment in Paris, because, why not?
Think about new recipes. Knit two inches of a scarf while letting laundry building into a teetering tower of Pisa.
Watch a whole lot of Anthony Bourdain. Make new outfits from purple tights, a black and white dress and a green sweatshirt, even if I'm called Punky Brewster by more than one person.
Ride on a Ducati a lot. Realize that it's the motorcycle equivalent of the thong.
Sing for no reason when someone scares me on the street. Realize this, in turn, scares them.
Got a long way to go...