In Which I Ought to Apologize Profusely for Quasi-Mystical Language and What May Appear to Be Random Capitalization

But I don’t. Because I’m running around in the manner of the newly decapitated Gallus gallus domesticus in preparation for flying with the four boys to Albquerque on Saturday, only this is the week one set of boys has camp in the morning another set has camp in the afternoon and trying to keep track of where everyone is/ought to be feels like patting my pockets for keys and phone every few minutes and flying into a panic when things aren’t quite as I think they ought to be. Plus I just got summoned for jury duty and need to deal with that before I go out of town, as well as emailing my parents my children’s dietary preferences (which are varied and contradictory), renting a viola for the second child since violas are technically too big to...

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Etc.

“Mara __” prompts the Facebook status updater like some wordless existential question. I am out of the glib and the funny and the clever and thinking of the two hundred people whose status updates I look at and who, if they haven’t politely, discreetly, hidden mine, if they haven’t sworn off Facebook or dismissed it because they have more interesting things to do — might read whatever I say in this little box, their faces swimming before my eyes, and the impossibly different persons I would be to them all respectively, all at the same time, I realize I have not Something to Say, but something to say, or rather that what I would say doesn’t fit in small boxes today. And that I am not ready to give up the blog. Not that I come...

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