pull the plug, and look what drains out

I didn't get as much work done yesterday as I'd hoped because I was moving from crying jag to crying jag...not sure why I was so much more emotional than usual. Wasn't premenstrual, had food in my stomach, my back wasn't hurting; none of the usual suspects. I'm getting pretty good at distinguishing "real" moods from those caused by discomfort, hunger, hormones: doesn't always help the mood, but at least I know what's going on and if it's something I've brought on my own self by not, say, remembering to eat. My dad was like that too; he'd get caught up in something and forget to eat. Sometimes for a day or two. No Good.

Part of it, as indicated, is that I was thinking about my dad. Which is code for something larger, really; something I started to blog and then decided against. Too raw, too vulnerable. And while that hasn't stopped me in the past, I have some new readers I don't know or whose motives in visiting are unclear to me. A little more self-protection seems in order. Some of it was about babies, which I may yet talk about. Some of it was about men, which I won't. Because really, what good does that ever do?

This is such a weird technology, isn't it? I can't wait to see what life looks like in twenty years, when we've all gotten used to all this connectivity. When the very word connectivity doesn't sound so damn silly and wrong.

But I digress. I just finished the last first drafts of the Big Project, and I'm eating peas with a huge hunk o' butter and cookie-dough ice cream (seperate, seperate, really) and trying to decide whether to take a victory lap around the block. Or a nap. Nap's winning. I should at least call the Snail Whisperer and see if she still wants to get something pierced; we'd talked about doing that before I went to Berlin, and it never happened. And the end of this project--and my newfound determination to stop catering--seem like something to mark in that particular way.

I'll tell you about the project later. Right now...naptime...