I’ve been working on a blog post.  I quote Shakespeare. I use metaphors. I reference Superman. There’s poop, too. I’ve been working on it now for ooooh ….. three weeks?

This is not that post.

This post is more of a response to Billy Crystal and Danny Devito (as their characters in Throw Momma From the Train), both of whom are inside my head snidely whispering “a writer writes…….ALWAYS…..”.  And to them I respond, “shut up shut up SHUT UP”.

I already have a couple decades of writer’s guilt for putting my craft (let’s call it that) on the back burner to have babies and whatnot*, so here I am mid-forties with even MORE babies and other things to take care of, but I figure it’s now or never so I’m gonna gird up my loins and grit my teeth and bloody well WRITE, except with standard interruptions it takes me a whole day just to color my damn roots so finding time to write is a……..challenge**.

And yes I HAVE to color my roots (hooray for my Welsh heritage with its bloody premature greying genes….. >sarcasm<). I would just let them grow out, but I don’t want to look like The Kicker’s grandma. Also The Canadian is already eight years younger*** than I am, and I’m sure his older woman fetish only extends so far. At least I hope so. Don’t want him leaving me for an octogenarian.

What I HAVE let go is getting my hair cut.  I’ve been rocking this adorable little pixie style for a few years now, and I love it more than (insert humorous analogy that I don’t have time to think of).  But I just can’t find the time to get regular trims so I’m resigned to it growing out for the time being.  I’m starting to look like Monica on Friends, when Phoebe accidentally cut her hair like Dudley Moore’s.  I turned to the Almighty Internet for help, and it was useless****.  All the advice I could find on styling your hair through the awkward growing out phase included the oh so helpful insistence that regular trims were a MUST to keep it presentable while getting longer…… but that’s ok.  I figured out how to deal with it – lots of gel, and/or a hat, and occasionally asking The Canadian if my hair looks horrible (he assures me he’ll tell me if it does.  And he will, bless him, and I’ll be grateful.  We’re GROWNUPS)

This is where I find a witty way to wrap up this post.  You’d best make up your own today.  Shut up Billy.

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*And ALSO shut up everyone who manages to have the babies AND publish a bestseller AND get regular manicures. You obviously have robot babies and time-management as a superpower. My superpower is snark. It’s fun but a real time waster……

**Yes, there’s better and more interesting ways to describe it than “challenge”. And if I had less to do today maybe I could think of one. #WRITERFAIL. I’ll just crawl under my pool table* and sob quietly now….

***That’s officially a Boy Toy. Yay for me!

****I have time for internet searches??  Yep, one handed while nursing The Kicker.

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*No, I don’t have an office. I have a bar and a pool table and an iPad. All things considered probably just as useful.