I called my mother 10 minutes ago.
Just to say "hi."
And now, I'm blogging about it.
I love my mom and she's always up for a chat which is wonderful really, but enough is enough.
I have to write.
This is ridiculous.
I've had ample time in the past week to sit down and start plunking along on the book. I have done just about everything but work on it though.
I went to Radio Shack - twice.
I brought two wool pea coats to Yat Sing Dry Cleaners.
I logged a couple entirely unnecessary "extra" hours at "the office" on Friday afternoon.
And I watched the movie-length premier episode of the latest season of The Bachelor. (This was for good reason as my new roomie was hosting a premier party and had even baked heart shaped brownies in celebration of Bachelor Brad being back after a three year stint in therapy with Texas' finest psychologist having come to find himself plagued with commitment phobia only after stringing two girls along till the bitter end of the season of the show he starred in a while back...read her blog - she is very funny, and I am blessed by the Craigslist no-fee-no-broker-apartment-listing gods to have found her and the fabulous home I am now residing in on the Upper Upper West Side also known as Morningside Heights also known as The Valley also known as a few blocks south of Columbia. She also circulates a recap email each week with witty commentary on the latest episodes of The Bachelor/ette with each new season. Seriously, let me know if you want in, they're hillarious and I'll forward them to you).
Anyway, point being. I don't even like reality TV.
So this has been cute and all, this "settling in" that I've been doing, nesting in the new digs, gradually getting into the 2011 groove, but the honeymoon's over and now it's back to work.
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