I'm a bit Scattered and stuff...does It show?

I have news of brobdingnagian proportions!
(oh yeah, it's a word. dictionary.com's Word of the Day, fool!)

Pronounced just how it sounds. Brob-ding-NAG-eeyun. It means huge or gigantic.

I've been really into words lately. New words, obscure words, words that will give me an edge in BOGGLE.

(boggle? yes. boggle. that game with the letters and words, yeah, that one.)

My sister warned me not to download any games onto my tablet because it becomes a time-suck and the purpose of the tablet is to help promote my art Suspended Dreams and make me more efficient blah blah blah...

But surely one game won't hurt. A puzzle game that makes me smarter while wasting time, so it's actually like being productive, surely would be alright.

So I chose Boggle.

And now I can't stop.

And my friend said I should write a blog post about it and I said I can't, I'm playing Boggle, but here's the blog post so what happened (you may be asking yourself)???

I uninstalled it.

I had to.

It was taking over my days, taking over my nights, getting into my dreams. I literally dreamt about three to five-letter word combinations and high scores.

And that's where I draw the line (apparently).

Even now I keep thinking about it and how easy it would be to install it again.

Good thing I'm not a smoker cuz if it's this hard to quit a word puzzle game, imagine me trying to quit a drug like nicotine. Hopeless.

I'm going to pack some boxes. Get my mind off of it.

(pack boxes? what??)

Oh yeah. I'm moving soon. Did I forget to mention that?
Probably boggles's fault. It made me forget to do all kinds of things.

I'm moving! I guess that's my brobdingnagian news. Not far, still in AZ, just need to hop over to the next town for hubby's new job. So I gotta pack boxes.

So...

Many...

BOXES.

NaNo Continues...

I was making dinner and this mini-scene popped into my head. It has nothing to do with the novel I'm working on for NaNoWriMo, just a mildly entertaining slice-of-life thing.
Like a hopeful future. The person I hope I remember to be.

“MOM!! MAHHHHM!!!”

I cringe inside, hearing my daughter screech for me from the other side of the house. My guests, my best friends from college, try to hide their own discomfort.

To lift the mood I say smoothly, “Ah, the sweet, dulcet tones of my child's voice calling my name. Sweetest music to my ears,” the mood relaxes and I call back, “I'm sorry, are you addressing room service or your mother? You know, the woman who GAVE YOU LIFE?”

Silence from the other end of the house. I'm about to explain that I've talked to my daughter about this when she appears, humble and small, but clearly with a burning question.

“Mother?”

“Ah yes!” I feign delighted surprise. “Child whom I love more than life itself, come in!”

She comes in, Ellie Jean, my precocious 11 year old. “Mom, can I go play at Lily's house? Her mom said I could.”

“Are you chores done?”

“...”

“You know the rules. You can play at your friend's when your chores are done. Are they done?”

“...mostly.”

“Then you can mostly go to her house.”

“...what does that mean?”

“It means you can walk ¾ of the way there, then turn around and come back home to finish your chores.” I smile at my friends, both single and childless. I wonder if they envy this little exchange, or if they will remember this scene when they go to their empty apartments and be grateful they only have to take care of themselves.

“Ugh, mom. You could just say 'no.'”

“And you could just do your chores.” I smile playfully at her, “But isn't it more fun this way?”

“Whatever.” She turns on her heel and leaves, presumably to address the undone chores.

“And Ellie?”

She stops, rolls her head to one side and sloooowly half-turns back to me, I can see her eyes are half-lidded. “Whaaaat?”

“I love you.”

Her pose doesn't change but she smiles. “You, too Mom.”