FIRE ISLAND Dear Blogiary, Not really awake yet. What sounded like Black Hawk Down landed outside my window in the middle of the night onto the baseball field. They do that to evacuate people, but it was creepy—green lights, that chopper sound, wind gushing in my window. But I managed to go back to sleep. I won’t even mention the bookcase I slide in front of the unlockable door here….
There are cats everywhere here, flattening the high tick-laden grass. Aside from the ticks, though, it would be pretty cool to be a Fire Island kitty.
ANYWAY, all the things I thought I’d get done out here are not getting done except for the relaxing and walking on the beach parts. I need to respond to a raft of email, start an intro to a book proposal, and some other future-related projects. Sigh.
Okay, this is distinctly uninteresting. It’s hard to keep blogs interesting when you’re trying not to say a peep about work, family or your significant other (and taking a break from writing about your cancer)—none of whom it would be prudent to write about. So instead I’ll tell you about the two white butterflies hovering over the grass and the dad yelling, “Guys, come on, we’re going to be late” next door. Late for what? Massage? Tennis? Hm. Which reminds me. Got to get me on the beach before the sun gets too high or hot. Think I’ll go left today instead of right. Ah, beach.
xo.
