Excuses

Actually, I won’t make excuses, but I will explain my absence. Yes, it has been a few days. More than a week, even. In a weird way it makes me happy that some of you are thinking, Where is she? What the heck? Not that I want to upset you in any way, it’s just nice to know that you look for more, that you’ve made a daily habit of reading my posts, and that a week away is uncharacteristic of me.

That being said, I didn’t have writer’s block. In fact, I don’t believe in “writer’s block” anymore. There was a quote I came across years ago by a famous author (his name and the exact quote escape me now) that essentially dismisses the notion of writer’s block, and says that inspiration is the act of getting your butt in the chair, sitting down to write. I have been making my best efforts to do just that, despite teaching and otherwise living. Writers write. They don’t make excuses about writer’s block.

That being said, I wish I could say I flew off to London for the long weekend and decided to take a few extra days abroad, chunneling over to Paris. Or that I got a great deal on a ticket to California, and Jill and I took off for some R&R at her timeshare in Palm Springs. But I’ve got nothing glamorous to share. Remember, I’m a teacher. We give up all rights to spontaneity September through June.

As you know, I don’t have any kids, so I can’t use the sick kids excuse. Not that if I had kids I’d want them to be sick, but I am fascinated by how easily people with children can get out of anything—baptism, wedding, backyard barbeque. Even if the responses have been sent and the bride and groom have committed hundreds of dollars for their meals, mention your kid has a fever and you’re all set. No one might ever suspect you’re lying. I, on the other hand, often feel like the only acceptable excuse would be that I am on my death bed. Even then, since I don’t have children to tend to, it would probably be expected that I get my childless, sick ass off my bed and get there. In fact, something similar did happen a few years ago. I didn’t attend a potluck surprise 40th for an old friend because I was in the throes of an allergic eczema attack—my eyelids pink and puffy and peeling—and (go figure) was not in the mood to attend this party in said condition, by myself. And I couldn’t call to say so without giving away the surprise. On Monday I had an email from the caring nurse, mother, and wife of this friend, asking what happened. When I replied her response was pretty much “oh.” No hope you’re feeling better, or glad you’re okay. Clearly, she didn’t believe me or didn’t think it was a good enough excuse. This incident created a somewhat bitter divide between me and them, and exacerbated the one that I think exists between breeders and non-breeders, but I digress.

I wasn’t jet-setting, nor was a nursing a sick child or a case of writer’s block.

I had a furlough day on Friday and a long weekend to follow. Over the weekend, I went away for a couple of days and came back Monday not feeling very well and have not been feeling well since. All the while, my computer at home is still temperamental. Trust that, even when I am not at the keyboard publishing posts, I am writing in my head or longhand in my notebook and there are posts in the hopper and I’ll catch up.

So let me get right to it.

(Thanks for noticing I was gone, Mo.)