Electric Grandmother

Maggie Croft's Personal Journal young spirit, wire-wrapped
spark electric grandmother
arc against the night

-- Lon Prater
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confessions of a bad mother

Alright, so this is possibly a confession of a real mother, but in any event...

I just spent about five hours working on a crit for one of my writing groups. This was the time necessary to do a decent critique. To do one up to my usual standards would have taken much, much longer, and I don't have that kind of time.

The last time I spent this much time on anything of this sort of length was probably Foucault. Actually, this story was much shorter. I have a mother headache that the two Tylenol I took for it are getting laughed at.

Avadore colored and played while I worked. Usually when I spend this much time doing something without breaking it up by doing household stuff, particularly stuff with my son, is when we're all sleeping.

I have mixed a strong drink. What this means is that I've mixed club soda, grenadine, pineapple juice and some lime. I'm pregnant, remember. Well, and alcohol and I don't get along so well -- I like it way too much so I stay away from it. But if there had been some rum in the house... :).

I'm going to go sit in a dark room. I have actually pulled out a movie to suck my child's brain out of his head for 90 minutes so I can be free of any stimulation.

I did feed Avadore a good dinner of jambalaya and pineapple, however.

There is no way I can afford to do something like this again. I was tempted to respond by saying, "I will not do this. I can't do this. Kick me out if you like. I refuse." I'm not the prima donna type, but I was close this time.

Time's a wasting. Time for a dark room.

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