Has it been that long?

Hello I am here! My name is Alice! CAN YOU HEAR ME!

Wait, let me try that again. Hello! This is a blog! Wait. That’s not good at all. HELLO WHAT IS YOUR NAME ARE YOU FRIEND?! No, no, I’m coming on too strong. Sorry. Wow. Greetings, I am here writing you for having long-time not written… is strange! Yes is!

There you go. Much better.

Sorry about that. I’m a little out of practice. It turns out I have to post more frequently, or several terrible things happen: 1) I forget how to come up with ideas; 2) everyone gets mad at me, but secretly, in their heads, so I have to imagine it; 3) Earth’s orbit goes just the tiniest bit awry, and we are set on an immutable trajectory that will eventually hurl us straight into the sun. I apologize for that last part. I didn’t know my own power. I should have guessed, of course. Apologies all around.

So I went to the Broad Summit the weekend before last, and it took me almost this long to recover. I was terribly fatigued, and had an attack of the nerves. A few drops of laudanum in my chamomile tisane managed to soothe me, but a longer rest cure than usual was prescribed. And now these linen straps are holding me fast to the bedposts, making it rather difficult to write! Oh, why won’t the doctor answer my bell?

Seriously, it was an incredible weekend, and apparently I am now a wrecked and aged woman who can’t handle air travel. Or maybe it’s regular life I can’t handle, and the return to reality is what caused my neurasthenia. Either way, I am now returned to my normally vigorous self. Huzzah!

Let’s change the subject now and talk about something cheerful, like miscarriage. We finally tackled the topic over at Momversation, and I am just grateful that the editors edited out my bizarre behavior, because in addition to being an old woman, I am a child who cannot discuss anything painful without interjecting jokes and weird inappropriate laughter. I believe I began my video with a fart joke. I’m not even kidding.

It felt strange to talk about my miscarriage so long after the fact, and the crabby guilt-laden Catholic inside me is whinnying, Why are you still thinking about that? Move on! Worry about the poor and the lame! And also the blind! Jesus died for your sins, missy! But then the rest of me is all, I’m sure you have a point, Sister Teresa of the Bleeding Ramekin, but put a damn sock in it. So there.