What Would Be Here

If I weren't suffering from a chronic lack of motivation and time and sanity, I would right now be spewing out a bunch of witty and thought-provoking posts.

One of them would be a hilarious retelling of my foray into the Time-Life building to visit with my brother-in-law, and the ridiculous security features therein. It would end with a contemplation on the current culture of paranoia in New York, and how differently the people who lived through 9/11 there see it than do the people who weren't there. It would be funny and poignant.

Another would be a book review of This Damn House, by Margo Kaufman, which I finished reading on my plane trip back from New York. It would tell you all about Margo, who I happened to have been acquainted with In Real Life for a short while, and it would tell you all about the book, which is hysterical. It would be persuasive, and make you want to read the book.

Then there would be the post about how my daughter turned into my mother on the phone the other night. (And I thought it was bad when I heard my mom's words coming out of my mouth.) And then there would be the post about how I've lost almost 10 pounds since starting Weight Watchers two months ago, but feel kind of guilty about it, since I've been anything but true to the plan. And then there would be the post about sitting with my father for about 45 minutes in a Starbucks in Manhattan and seeing him for the first time in almost four years. And then there would be the post about how I'm switching psychiatrists for completely mundane scheduling reasons and how this whole trying-to-get-better process has really sucked so far. And then there would be a post about the play reading Baroy produced just before I left for New York, which featured one of his own early plays and got a great response but no promises of money or support, and my mixed feelings about all of it.

These posts, too, would have been by turns emotional and light, introspective and amusing.

It's too bad. I think you would have enjoyed them.