You know who I really love on Twitter? Author TC Boyle. If you tweet to him, he will tweet back. He will quote-retweet you and answer you back. Every time. He’s very sensible and he’s got a life routine down, I can tell. I really loved Drop City and just really like him. If you’re on Twitter, you should follow him; he takes pictures of his daily eggs and newspaper headlines and his morning walks. And he’s friendly. I’d totally drink wine and talk shop with him.
I’ve started a story. I’m just writing and writing to see where it goes. I decided if I have to sit down and outline and character map and all that, I’ll never write. It’s like cleaning – I just need to do it. If I have to come up with a plan for when and how, then I’m just going to get on the Internet and overtweet political things or watch too much Netflix.
My summer is half over. I’m trying not to think about it, because going back to work always gives me the sads. This year (thank you thank you) my sads will be significantly less, because my work stress will be. But I predict I will still come here and write all wistful about how deeply I long for summer to re-start. Seriously, you guys, I really must find a way to not work but still get a monthly paycheck in my bank account. I don’t need much, just enough to pay rent, pay off my credit card debt, and address the utility bills.
I’ve not had as much time at the pool as I wanted (they keep locking it up for maintenance and repairs), and I still need to push through my natural inclinations towards general malaise so I can start running again. And I think I need to add weights in there somewhere, too. It’s easier when I don’t have a child with me – while her needs are no where near as overwhelming as they were a few years ago, only children are a unique kind of child to raise. If she were a quiet, introverted child this would be a no brainer – she’d read or play quietly in her room, and so would I in mine. But I got a child who needs people the way plants need water: to live. And I am her people.
I just read an article the other day that lifted about 3/4 of my guilt off my shoulders – stop playing with your children, it said. Children need to learn to play with other children, not adults. I think it’s okay to play with your kids every now and then, for connecting and bonding and all that. But I got what the writer was saying: it is okay to sit back and watch your child play and not participate in that. Helicopter parenting isn’t going to teach them a thing. Yesterday, M and I were at the pool and a mom got in the water to play with her 5 year old, and I thought: lady, let your kid play with mine and go enjoy some down time. Because as soon as another child gets in the pool, I’m done. I’m out. I feel bad for her when she has to play in the pool all by herself so I’ll get it with her to keep her company, but when another kid’s in it? Oh, have at it. That’s your people, go play with them. And Miss M doesn’t have a problem at all walking up to any child and bravely asking: Will you play with me? Because she’s learned that some children are unfriendly, rude dickheads, just like the adults they’ll be when they grow up. But most children are pretty agreeable and open to making new friends, even if their friendship skills need some work.
I think the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen is when she and my nephew pull in new children into their water games at the pool, especially when they can see the other children really want to play but are too shy to ask. They just start playing with them – here, come and play with us! Or they’ll walk right up to them and say, “We’re playing a game of Marco Polo. Want to play too?” And my heart just overflows, because I was that child who needed another child to come up to me and say that. (As an adult, I am that adult who needs another adult to come up to me and say that. By the way.)
Earlier this month, I got worried I’d offended or upset my friend Carol over something very silly. When I told her about it, she laughed and went, “Oh, Amy. You’re so Pisces. I totally get you.” Because she’s Pisces, too. Being a Pisces is not for the weak, I find. So many feels. So much thinking. Lots and lots (and lots) of worrying. A reluctance to be a pest. A sincere desire for your freedom because we love it, too. We are the neediest people in the zodiac yet can’t stand other needy people. (There’s a reason the fish are conjoined at the tail and going opposite directions, or symbolized as a circle of two fish chasing each other.) But we always notice when one of the other children really want to play, but are too shy to ask.
The cool thing about Pisceans is that you never know what you’re going to get, particularly when you hang out with a Pisces girl – we are all 12 signs of the zodiac, wrapped into one cute, fragile package. That weeps a lot. And totally mentally drifts while you’re talking to us. And loves nature but not its mosquitoes or temperatures over 85 F. And will rub ourselves all over you, like a cat…which I bet at first seems really sweet and flattering and perhaps even sensual, but please know it’s just that we’re marking you as our territory.
Here. If you know a lot of Pisces people, true Pisceans, then here are some keys to decoding us:
I think the basic gist here is: we’re super sweet until you give us a reason not to be.
But we also like music, stories and poems, water activities, and we’ll love you big and hard. And if you love us back, there are all kinds of side rewards in it for you. Here’s some more keys to understanding your Pisces:
…you know what’s really freaky? M, C, and I are all Chinese zodiac Rats. And not just Rats, but Water Rats. I agree with some of it, but don’t identify with other descriptors. But I usually always identify with Pisces descriptors. Strange.
Have I meandered enough? Are you completely confused and wondering what my point for even writing this was? I started out with an author promotion, dived into anti-helicopter parenting, and ended on the zodiac. This is what the mind of a procrastinator looks and feels like and your cue to go do something productive. Don’t be like Amy.