It’s been a while, as the last year of my life has unfolded, shall we say, a little spastically. Hubby and I have lived in three cities and four different abodes. We bought a dog. Then had a baby. All the while executing several hairpin career moves. It’s been a good time. A great time actually. A bit like boogieing nonstop to Lionel Ritchie’s Can’t Slow Down, only with more diaper change interludes. A few weeks ago, I handed in the final copy edits on my forthcoming book, Prude: Lessons I Learned When My Fiance Filmed Porn (Seal Press, Fall 2013). I did it! Birthed a baby and a book all at the same time! Woot! Then last week we went to the country for a little R & R and guess what I found out: Lionel’s not kidding. It’s really freaking hard to slow down, especially when you’ve been gyrating as one does at a gay club tripping on speed to an Enrique Iglasias song. Except totally sober.
Don’t get me wrong, as someone who for many years could easily sleep away a perfectly good morning, followed by the better part of an afternoon, I’m fond of my new rise and shine persona. Babies force this behavior out of us. At least the rising, if not the shining. I may be clad in an unfortunate wardrobe of revolving nightgowns, but man do I get shit done—do the laundry, walk the dog, write a book, nurse a baby 24-7, hang out with that husband of mine when he’s not travelling the continent for work and leaving me to single mom it with a newborn. I’m on it. No problem. Getting it done.
So recently, instead of madly blogging about my life on the heels of spending a year writing a memoir (I know, who knew my narcissism had limits?) I’ve been manically googling real estate. Why? Because why not throw another crazy adventure into the Cajun Chex Mix that is our lives? Then I considered this: can one become, like, you know, addicted to change? Hmmm, let’s see. I’ve moved every couple of years, my whole life, and the intervals do seem to be shortening. And I guess I do have a tendency to gravitate to newness, exhibit A: the stack of half-finished novels on my bedside table. Then again, these days it takes deep pause to remember what I did yesterday, let alone which page of what book I’m on.
Is my propensity to switch it up a real thing? Seems maybe so. I found this HuffPo article:
Am I exhibiting the signs? Let’s see, do I have a need for speed? Any Formula One in my future? Well, actually, no. Anyone who has tailgaited me on the highway will attest that this is just not so. My fear of death by dismemberment heartily overrides my need for speed, hands down.
Ultra wired? Technologically dependent? Nah, not so much either. I could easily drop my iPhone in a lake and never look back. See ya!
On the other hand, do I lack the ability to say no to things like cupcakes and booze? Um, well, sometimes. I definitely can’t say no to chips. Don’t leave the chips out. No seriously. Please. Don’t.
But am I footloose, a lover of travel, restless and change craving—hell to the yup. And on that note, I really must be off to surf MLS for my future, hypothetical home.
Back on the book front it looks like my Montreal launch of Prude will be at Drawn and Quarterly on October 3rd. LA dates and location to come!