Thursday, June 15, 2000

1:20 a.m. A little this, a little that. A little more of the same. A week of thinking it's one day later than it is because it's summer and every day seems like the beginning of the weekend.

A little filing, a little finding some lost paperwork. Did I mention that I have approximately 21 boxes to go through when I have to find something? That's why filing is so, so, so very very important.

I have to wonder about the guy who invented the Pendaflex metal frames, however. How chipped up and stubbed his hands must have been. He must have bought Band-Aids by the case lot. The edges are so sharp and the screwdriver always go flying off into the soft webbed spots between your fingers as you're trying to slide in one of the bars and tighten the screw.

But I persist. Today I separated those clear file tab things that ride in the top of the green Pendaflex folders into colors and clear; three-tab and five. Three shoe boxes full. I am totally committed. You name it, I will be able to lay my hands on it. Nothing will ever slip between the cracks again.

We are having some welcome children moments today and tomorrow. All of our kids are grown up now and I don't like to invade their privacy and talk about any of them, but they are each the most stellar examples of what a young person should be. One of them is sleeping right upstairs as I type, and I wish I could show you a photo or brag about accomplishments, but alas.

Maturity. I am so above it all. Tomorrow, a child's birthday -- and I'll be oblique and subtle and tasteful as all get out, but still the kvelling will be oozing out between every paragraph. I really wish I could live in the same town as all my kids. They would drop in for spaghetti and I would pop over and borrow a cup of fonts or a basket of ball bearings, and we'd sit around and I would impart all my wisdom.

I have a lot of wisdom now and hardly any way to share it. I didn't have so much when I was raising them, back when I had all the time in the world. Ironic.

Sigh. If I let myself get gloomy about all this physical distance between us, I could get very gloomy indeed. But I don't and I won't. I will file all that stuff, all those thoughts under misery.

I actually do have a file called misery, as well as one for snow and chaos and change. My fiction files are very different from my business files and it was very liberating to create them -- and to keep on creating them -- as I developed themes and characters and story lines.

They say that you only have one story in you and that you tell it over and over again. I often wonder about that. I'm not sure I agree with this idea, but I do know that I have a finite number of themes and they have served me very well over the years.

Tonight's theme? The centrifuge I find myself in. Time spinning me away so fast -- I thought I was standing still -- until today comes along and I realize my living blood has actually separated in the blur of days.