Since I’ve accidentally clicked on the bookmark to post on my blog no less than four times in the past 24 hours, I think that means I’m supposed to update.

All’s well. Thanks for the kind words and such. I do appreciate it, and I appreciate everyone who’s ever taken the time to read. I can’t begin to explain the confidence that has given me in my writing.

I’ve caught myself writing blog posts in my head several times this week. Nothing profound, just the habit of documenting my life. I miss that. Sure, I could do that in a journal, but let’s face it: I’ve got the Myers-Briggs paperwork in my shrink file documenting me as being an extreme ENFP. I like to share. I like attention. I thrive on human interaction. This might explain why it pisses me off when people say that writers should just write for themselves and not worry about having an audience. That doesn’t work for everyone, and it doesn’t work for me.

So, I’ll be back at it soon. I’m tentatively thinking at the beginning of September. Clara Jane should be settled into her school routine by then, and I’ll be rolling with my new stuff at the Riverfront Times.  I jumped in feet-first this week with the daily Morning Brew posts and Friday’s St. Louis Food Blog Digest. After Clara Jane starts school on Thursday (yes, they changed the day and I’m actually glad to have a few extra days with her), I’ll be jumping into another weekly post that’s a bit more time-consuming and creative.

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Tomorrow, I won’t be posting on my blog. And maybe not the day after that. Possibly not the day after that, either.

I’m done with NaBloPoMo and I’m going to pull way back from the Internet. Mainly because I don’t think my new responsibilities are going to allow much time for online stuff. And also because I read this piece last night, when I was in the midst of a situation that could have been used as an example in the article.

Basically, I’m tired of the superficiality of social media. I’m tired of cramming my personality into 140 characters or less. I’m tired of my life being a status update, when it’s so much more than that.

In the five years I’ve had this blog, I’ve had several incidents where I’ve gotten pissed off because the main interest seems to be in the train wreck aspects. When something truly bad – or truly wonderful – happens, it tends to get little attention. Perfect case in point: last night on Facebook I snarked back at someone who’s snarked at me for years, which has led to posts upon posts. And yes, I’m repsponsible for participating in it, perpetuating it, and playing along with it.

While all of this was happening, here sits a post detailing some of the best news I have gotten all year. And it’s most unacknowledged.

It’s a sharp perspective.

I’m not enjoying this anymore. At least, not right now. So, I’m packing it up for a bit. Call it a hiatus. I’ll still check into Facebook and Twitter on occasion, and of course email’s not going away. Mainly, I’m going to stop putting so much of my emotional self out there. It’s not worth it anymore.

I have no doubt that the people I like who genuinely like me back will remain in my life. If you’re one of them, you know where to find me.

Tomorrow, I’m buying Springsteen tickets. That’s pretty much it. It’s time for the annual Heatwave Lockdown. My allergies, like everyone elses in the St. Louis area, have gone ape shit with the heat. Any end-of-summer melancholy I ever felt has been stomped flat.

Bring on the school days, the cool weather, and The Boss for my birthday.

Oh, and bring on the work.

Since I was asked on Facebook if I ever post when I’m having a good day (by someone I’ve always wondered why I friended in the first place because she never seemed to like me much), this is as good a time as any to spring the good news. You know, the stuff that lead to two days of my Facebook status simply reading, “Giddy”:

This week I talked to my editor at the Riverfront Times. In addition to Dive Bomber and Throwback of the House, I’m going to be writing a third weekly piece. No details yet, as we’re in the hashing-out phase. The base idea is really great, though, and I’m not just saying that because it involves me eating foods that don’t contain canned meat. I’ll also be doing  the weekly St. Louis Food Blog Digest and the daily Morning Brew. Lots of writing. Lots of reading. Quite a happy pay raise. Oh, and that little thing in which I get paid to do exactly what I’ve always wanted to do, without going to an office, and having time for all the other stuff I’m interested in doing. Like the knitting classes I’m teaching, LiveFeed stuff, oh, and raising that kid who woke me up this morning by resting her feet in the divit of my waist and kicking like she was swimming laps.

Looks like I’ll be skipping that stay at home mom rite of passage in which I drive myself nuts trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life after the kid starts full-time school. And I was so looking forward to having new bitch fodder and something to give me headaches once allergy season subsides.

Dammit. Being so lucky means I’m never going to have anything to post in my Facebook status line ever again. Whatever will I do?

Oh, right – I’m going to move into this next phase of my life more content, fulfilled, and excited than I’ve ever been. Even when I have a sinus headache and a whiny-ass kid.

Tomorrow is one of the last days of summer vacation with Clara Jane. She finished day camp today, which all turned out fine. The boy I bitched about? He’s actually a nice kid, but with a very overzealous, slightly unhinged grandfather. Poor kid. Poor both of them. But we had fun.

There’s no real agenda for the next few days, until Wednesday when she’s going to attempt to visit my parents again. She’ll come home just in time to start school.

Of course, after bitching all summer, now I’m a little melancholy about it ending. I know. I make no sense at all.

After camp, we were on our way to lunch and I had to stop for gas because I’m an adult and I’d been driving with the “low fuel” light for a good ten miles. And because I’m a responsible adult, I got frenzy-level excited when I looked at the normal-looking BP station and noticed the posters for all varieites of microbrews, and build-your-own 6-packs for $8.99.

Hi. I’m the mom who comes into a gas station at before noon, shirt exposing her bra, letting her grubby-ass kid buy a giant bag of Spicy Cheese Doritos while she buys beer.

This is probably an omen that, melancholy aside, it’s probably a good thing summer’s over.

Besides, it’s not like I bought Stag. I got selections from Ska Brewing, Left Hand, and Victory. And I didn’t drink them in the parking lot while eating nachos. I’m saving that for breakfast on the first day of school.

Tomorrow, I might have Clara Jane spayed.

All summer she’s been crazy, but now it’s morphed into a particular brand of crazy I am not prepared to handle.

She’s gone boy crazy.

A few weeks ago Clara Jane told a long, rambling tale about things she and her boyfriend Nelson had done. Not the kid named Nelson who was in her class last year (who, I might add, occasionally called her his “Little Princess”. Kill me.). Nope, this imaginary boyfriend was Nelson Muntz.

There was a lot of hand-holding in the saga.

The past two days at daycamp, she’s been a little giggly and swoony over another little boy.

But tonight. Tonight, she rendered me so hysterical, I couldn’t breathe for the equal amounts of laughing and crying I did. When I was a kid I hated it when my parents would laugh at me, and I swore I’d never laugh at my own kid.

That was before my kid fell in love with a contestant on Wipeout.

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Tomorrow I’m going to try to learn nothing, because I learned a lot today.

I learned to needle felt from my new pal Kat and Paste Crafts tonight, even though I swore I wouldn’t attempt any new crafts. It’s knitting or nothing for me. Well, knitting and felting because this craft involves stabbing wool with barbed needles which makes such a satisfying, angst-shredding crunch. My first project:

I also learned today that my daughter has far surpassed me in chopstick skills when she started stealing the rice off my plate at lunch:

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Tomorrow is just a few minutes away. And tomorrow is going to hurt. Why? Well, let’s just say I’ve instituted a new rule regarding my work research: never do shots of Jack Daniels with a bar owner, no matter how many time he offers. And that’s all I can say about that until the next edition of Dive Bomber is posted on Thursday.

Woke up at 6 a.m. this morning. Eating Nachos Bellgrande at 11:48 p.m. What happened in between? Well, I think the Jack Daniels and Taco Bell are adequate explanation, don’t you?

Tomorrow, we’re back to our version of normal. It’s already started: Clara Jane had her ritual bedtime crying jag because she’s going to miss Brian when he goes to work tomorrow. But he’ll go to work, and I’ll spend the day with her, trying to find ways to enrich her life without chewing the ends of my hair and hacking hairballs.

I’m really sick of bitching about how hard parenting has been this summer.

I’ve always been spontaneous, but I’ve got a kid who isn’t. This is why we’re drying each other crazy. I want to get up every day and say, “Hey! Let’s do this cool thing. Or go here. Or stay home and be crafty.” This doesn’t work for her.

Actually, what works for Clara Jane is building a huge family compound where all of her relatives can live with her, and inventing a money machine so that no one ever has to work and we can spend all of our time doing exactly what she wants to do, on her schedule. My mom and I have discussed this, and because we’re sane people with boundaries, Clara Jane’s just going to have to realize that not all dreams come true.

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That’s right. In order to kick my writing pants into gear, I’m participating in NaBloPoMo once again. In case you don’t know the drill, this means I’ll make a post every day in August. This time I’m all gung-ho; I’m even going to follow the official NaBloPoMo theme – tomorrow.

Which is exactly when I’ll start making thoughtful posts. In the meantime, Clara Jane has returned home and all the noise she’s created has made all of my teeth fall out of my head.