I'm having blogger's block, I think. (It's like writer's block, only more second tier and hacky.) I blame the weather. It's spring and it's freezing and there's snow on the ground and my phone keeps buzzing with ARCTIC SQUALL NOR'EASTER WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY YOU'RE ALL GONNA DIE alerts.
It's making me exceedingly grumpy and I don't feel particularly "funny."
Like, my minivan's battery died on Monday, stranding me and Noah about a half hour from home, but thanks to our particular minivan's state-of-the-art rocket-computer-car-from-the-future-ness, I learned that instead of — oh, I don't know — turning on the battery indicator light to tell me the battery was dead, the car's computer basically freaked out and turned on ALL of the indicator lights and several beeping alarms, while also flashing random conflicting warnings on the info screen about the car's anti-lock brakes failing, insufficient fluid levels and a busted VSC system (whut?).
Now, usually that's the sort of thing I can easily drama-queen into a longform tantrum of madcappery and fail. But then the next day it fucking snowed again and the grumpiness took over and I couldn't work up the energy to give a shit. It was just the goddamn battery. It needed a jump, Jason drove over with the jumper cables, and then everything was fine. THE END.
(On the plus side, I now know that 1) VSC stands for Vehicle Stability Control, and 2) my minivan is not particularly good in the face of a mild crisis and has no problem-solving skills whatsoever. "Oh no! The battery is dead! Panic! Sound the alarms! All of the alarms! LOUD NOISES! I don't know what to do so I'm just going to set my hair on fire and run around really fast!")
I've taken on a couple new work/freelance projects that I'm very excited about, but I still have an unprecedented amount of free time during the day — for the first time in forever (compulsively bursts into That Song, weeps) my childcare/nap hours exceed my work obligations. This isn't helping my mood either, since it leaves me feeling oddly useless and unmoored. I don't know what to do with myself, and I can't stop feeling like I should be doing something.
I put a load of laundry in and stare at the machine for a bit, then go upstairs and wander around, rearranging candles and tchotchkes. I check for news about Flight 370 over and over. My kids' toys have never been more organized. "I should write a book," I say to myself a few times a day, then remember I don't have any real ideas for a book (everybody wants YA fiction; I have no idea how to write YA fiction; I don't think a dystopian futuristic hellscape made out of Lego and Thomas the Tank Engine is what the publishers are talking about). So I play a game on my phone for awhile instead. I'm exercising multiple times a day — hoping against hope that ONE DAY, spring and summer will come and I'll thank my ass for at least attempting to shed a long winter's worth of fat and carbo-pelt. We've been eating dinner almost absurdly early, just because by 4:30 I'm completely out of things to do and figure I might as well start cooking.
(Latest dinnertime I-can't-believe-everybody-ate-that victory: salmon with lentils, leeks and mustard-herb butter. Sounds fancy but was ridiculously easy, and we had zero leftovers because everybody wanted seconds and thirds of the lentils. LENTILS! Dear children, you are weirdos, but I love you.)
I guess I sound kind of depressed, even though I'm not, really. I'm just...bored. Kinda antsy. I'm so beyond ready for spring and sun and to finally pack up all the mittens and hats and to not trip over discarded snow boots every time I walk into my house. It's gotta happen soon, right?