Tuesday, April 3, 2012

All Females are Capable of Stinging

This morning I posted something on facebook about the return of the blog, so now I am sitting here not disappointing myself by composing a few sentences. It is possible that in honor of National Poetry Month I may add in some extraneous

Line breaks.

Or not.

Really, I am only writing to see if I remember how. It’s been so long since I last posted something. At least three candy holidays have come and gone. I can’t remember any of the passwords to my blog, and it will take some real soul searching to actually remember that whimsically witty and elongated subtitle that I found so amusing at one point.

In the span of this one day there are numerous things I have done to avoid sitting in this chair and writing.

Some of these things include: (not necessarily in this order)

 •Planning a six-year-old’s “Rockstar” birthday party. (There will be a piƱata. Maybe an actual band. I was very thorough in this endeavor).

 •Helping my husband paint the garage.

 •Teaching Thing One how to write an acrostic poem about every member of her family.

 •Making meatballs.

 •Eating meatballs.


 It was only moments ago, post bedtime tucking in, that I turned the television on to go through my nightly channel search, the time I spend foraging through the On Demand museum of television history, scanning titles of movies and television shows for one that will be a nice pairing with my mood, and the kind of snack I feel like eating at the time. There are nights when I spend a solid hour looking through the menu with high hopes before I finally watch a rerun of crime drama. I am almost convinced that I enjoy the searching more than any of the shows themselves—but perhaps that topic is for another time.

But, you see, my computer was there, too. Opened. Ready for action. If only I could find a show to provide adequate background noise. . . No, this time it wasn’t the television that hindered me from productivity, it was the giant yellow jacket vibrating the light bulbs in my dining chandelier (or what would be that if we put a table under it). It is April 3, and has been raining in Seattle everyday of the year except yesterday. What is a yellow jacket doing around at all, especially inside my house? I couldn’t sit on the couch, it was much too close to what I was sure would end in mupltiple stings after getting stuck in my hair and down my shirt. Every time the giant wasp flew into the light fixture it was like someone being tased behind my head.

I would like to say I ran and took cover next to the front door, but it was more like I yelped and jumped with my hands flailing, then stood there, trapped, without a plan. I was completely unarmed; no tea towel of destruction was anywhere in the vicinity and there was an overall sense of dread keeping me from peeking out around the corner. I had the tv remote in hand with an excellent view of the television, so I just stood there and browsed the guide for much longer than any person should while standing and hiding from a bee. It was only then that I realized the giant predatory wasp was a sign that I needed to grab my computer and go far, far away. Not only from the insect itself, but from the television which is the same kind of poison for my fragile attention span.

I grabbed the computer, ran into my office that is hermetically sealed with a sliding glass door between me and the rest of the house (another excellent topic for another time, maybe tomorrow). And then I wrote this. And I posted it for everyone to read. I’m not sure if this is better or worse that compulsive tv browsing.

Thank you Poetry month, don’t mind if I do.
Haiku for the day:

 Carnivorous wasp--
I hear you ramming light bulbs,
and I run away.

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