marmite breath slept here

I am alive, I promise.  I've had thousands hundreds tens ones of people wondering where I am, and I'm pleased to say that I am not dead and not missing a hand and I haven't frozen to death in this Godforsaken tundra.  There really is a good explanation for why I have not blogged. (It has nothing to do with the fact that I am turning into a sewing nerd)

I have writer's block.  I'm trying to work through it, but it sucks.  I have the words in my head, but they don't translate.  I've even taken to wearing my Quill and Scroll (high school journalism award) around my neck on a necklace for inspiration but nada, zip, zilch.  I got the award eleventy billion years ago and it doesn't mean anything to anybody anymore--except me.  I used to be a writer, you know.  Before the crippling writer's block.

I'm wanting to write about Italy because I miss it.  I know I'm always banging on about how much I miss England and how I hate saying goodbye to people and places all the time, but lately I feel the distance from Naples so keenly.  Perhaps because this time five years ago I was sensitive to feelings, smells, sights, everything.  This time five years ago I was eight days past my due date and feeling like this baby would never come out.  My big ass had to stop driving, which meant no cherished trips into the village at Gricignano to buy fresh fennel or arugula for my salads.  Eh, I wrote about Tom's birth last year, but this year I am feeling the passage of time go by very fast, and it's at once terrifying and amazing.  We have been away from Naples for almost three years.  I have been gone from England for seventeen.  I have been married for ten.  I have known Sarah for twelve.

Sarah is in town this weekend.  We met on an online BBS in 1995 while I was in college in Arkadelphia (one semester! yay me!) and she was in Austin, Texas.  One weekend, she caught a ride up to Arkansas with a friend of mine who was also attending U.T so that she could come and meet me.  We both missed England (she had been stationed there with her family) and both liked the same things.  We were kindred spirits and became eachothers closest ally.  She was my maid of honour at my wedding.  Her parents live in the next town from where I live now.   Over the years, we have drifted in and out of touch, but there is always something there--an understanding that we lived through some intense times, the both of us.  We're still the same at the core.  And now she's here and it was as if no time had passed, except for the constant interruptions from my kids while we were drinking endless cups of tea and eating cake yesterday.  

Now for the gruesome news.

We have mice again.  It makes me freak out to think about it.  The other day, I opened the cupboard and reached down to get the washing up liquid and nearly grabbed a mouse!  I screamed the place down and then the kids and I watched as it played Hide and Seek in the cleaning cupboard.  It is avoiding the traps that I have put down.  Perhaps it knows what happens to mice who try to live here.  Tonight though, the most awful thing--we opened the pantry and there was a small mouse.  Cue to me screaming again (kids laughing at me) and me begging Aaron to please do something about this problem!  So he went and bought some of those sticky traps where the mouse walks on it and then gets stuck.  He put the traps out and after an hour and a half we had caught three mice!  I just about died.  I am getting the shivers thinking about it, seriously!  And the worst part?  They were squeaking pitifully.  My heart broke.  I hate that these poor little things came in out of the bitter cold and tried to find some refuge and a few crumbs and we just trapped them and left them to die.  I hate it.  I also hate that I couldn't stand to hear them squeak so I made Aaron put them in the bin and take it outside.  Oh.  Oh. *much wringing of hands* Poor things.  I did ask him if he could put them out of their misery by perhaps bashing them in the head or shooting them, but he said no.  I read an article about mice coming in the house during the winter and that it is quite common, so none of you had better judge me for having mice.  With these traps though, we won't have them any more.  I am sad and grossed out at the same time.  And squeamish.  And sad, did I mention that?  I don't like cruelty, but I also don't like vermin.

For somebody who has Writer's Block, I certainly am blabbering on.  For real, I'll get my shit together and write a proper blog soon, but I wanted to let you all know that I am okay and haven't frozen to death or been put in jail or anything like that.   But thanks for worrying about me and making me feel loved.  And I have finally caught up on my emails (Elena, I just have yours from last week to respond to--and I will, I promise!). 

On a funny note, I woke up with Pete Wentz hair the other day.  And like a dutiful blogger, I captured it in all its ugly glory.  You're welcome, my poppets.  Never let it be said that I keep my dark side hidden.

Coming soon:  a blog about Italy and how it makes me cry when I think about not being there.  Or, if I can't manage that, a blog about how religious bumper stickers make me laugh.  Example: In case of rapture, this vehicle will be unmanned.   I almost fell out of the van laughing.