21 Jan 08
Embarrassment of Riches
I’m stuck. Do I write about my embarrassing breakdown when my mother was admitted to the hospital over the weekend? Or what about the poignancy with which my father entertained moving to Baltimore because he loved my mother and wanted her to be near the hospital in the city we’ve all grown to hate?
I could write about my new seamstress who is so classic sweet old lady that she deserves her own sitcom. Her blond hair stands at least (and I swear I’m not exaggerating) 4-6 inches from her head, teased to high heaven and frozen with still visible beads of hair spray. She has now twice held me hostage in her house for interminable periods of time telling stories, showing pictures, educating me on my ill fitting bra and recommending sizes I’ve never heard of or seen in stores, showing me her ‘certified undergarment fitter’ pin, and various other things. She is so sweet but I left her house tonight thinking I might either never return or I would have to engineer natural and timely escapes for every visit.
Even still, I could write about lunch with Mr. Coffee where his wife is making steady progression. Today she was estranged and the “r” word (reconciliation) was even used. My God, I must run far, far, away from this man.
Or I could write about how exposed I feel now that I’ve given the blog wider (but still ridiculously modest) exposure and explore what it means that I think I’d be more comfortable with total strangers reading it.
Or I could just go to bed.
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