There are things I’m very grateful for. That there is coffee for sale at five in the morning, is one. I’m grateful for Yahoo’s Most Viewed News, and my fake-furry lined boots in the winter, and that my commute’s not too bad, and the animals. Not all of the animals, not everyone’s, or the jungle’s or forest’s, just mine. They’re quirky, ill-behaved creatures who eat too fast and fail at small-talk. And their bathroom etiquette is, well, could be improved. Still. This morning at 5 am (less than an hour ago) when I left for coffee in sleepwear and boats, no one laughed or moved eyebrows or traded looks. They climbed onto the back of the couch and stared out the window until I came back and you could tell by their demeanor that there’d been little gossip about me while I was gone.

These are the kind of people I can live with. The gruesome hamsters, even, summon affectionate eyes when I peer in their cage.

J. is in Parsippany, which is silly. But that’s where you go for corporate meetings when it’s where the corporation is.

I’m here, you know that, and can’t sleep. Nothing angsty, don’t fret. It’s mostly timing and the stars.

The Batman alarm just went off, it’s in Jr.’s room it’s incredibly loud.

There are projects going on. Not glamorous, necessarily, but at least new. I don’t know. It’s raining. I suppose that’s all I’ll say.

Oh, follow me on Twitter.

I sounded cranky, a bit, yesterday. I wasn’t, though. Hmm.

I can’t believe that M.’s not twittering. Can you believe it, KM? M., you need to Twitter. It’s your kind of thing, really. Later you can thank me.

I do practically everything, now, on my phone. Did you know that? Except work, and sometimes even that. Also, I might want an iPad.

It took me awhile to get Twitter and I’m not skilled, yet, at tweeting, but oh the treats I find from following. Today, for instance: the New York Public Library’s quirky blogs, the iPhone app for Disquieted (new art exhibit at PAM), this guy.

Anyway. Whatever. Scruffy is making weird noises again, he’d be perfect except for the noise. Jonathan Franzen said no writer with an internet connection is producing good fiction (read it on Twitter!) and so I turned off the wireless this morning. I think I made good fiction. I saw that Colson Whitehead (I follow him on Twitter!) received a Pen/Faulkner nomination for Sag Harbor, which I’d forgotten about. I just read an excerpt and it’s very pretty, very pretty. Colson must keep off his internet while he works. Now, to buy it on paper, or beam down to my Kindle?

I’m feeling gadgety today. Soon, within weeks, I’m speaking to my great friend’s class of sixth-graders, or maybe eighths, or maybe both, about writing. And we do a good deal of it differently, I think, than people imagine. Not so much the old Thomas Wolfe way of standing at the dresser hand-writing page after page and letting the finished ones drop to the floor. Nope. There’s Randy Jo Stewart, for instance. She’s launched her cleverly brilliant career on Facebook and Twitter and is writing her book proposal, I hope, right now. She’s built a following and has a chunk of work for agents to review. Before the year is gone, she’ll cut a deal.

Okay, I know. This is a dull, scattered post. I’ve been writing in 140-word snippets too much, a long skinny blog page is imposing. There’s rain, I’ve told you that before. The pool is once again blue (also told you that). I’m going to go back to fiction, I have kept you long enough.

Where the hell have I been? Do you wonder? I’d like to address that if I may, I’ve been doing stuff. Oh nothing big, really. Don’t call your fancy friends. A few minutes ago, for instance, I ate a sandwich. I’m doing that sort of stuff. That’s where I’ve been.

And here, you might as well know it, divorce sucks. It’s unnatural, it’s lame, takes up some time, it’s blah blah THIS blah THAT. It’s retarded. Oh wait, we’re not saying retarded, there are summits about it. We’re saying “intellectually disabled” last time I looked. Please correct.

Still.

So I’ve been doing things, and I can’t find my power washer (have you seen it?) And the pool is BLUE again, and the mosquito larvae have died and there are other things but are you interested in them, really? My good friend is funny and she’s on Facebook and you should Friend her plus follow her on Twitter. You’ll kick yourself if you don’t.

And, I guess, that’s all there is to say about that. Or Tiger or health care, for that matter.

Now I know there was a botched abduction and the aliens are talking to me on Amazon. Seriously. Plus the doorbell rang this morning at 4:00, I think that all of it’s connected.

For instance, my Amazon Express Checkout Payphrase today is: “Teresa’s Gallant Bid”. Do you see what I mean? What do you make of that? Exactly.

There’s a link, on the Payphrase that takes you backstage where you can see bunches of Payphrases and even create your own. That feels like cheating, though. I’ll take my chances, like everyone else, and accept whatever they dole out.

Um. Well. I suppose that’s all I have right now. You’re not disappointed are you? I’m looking for great fiction recommendations, but only stories told in third-person. If you’re not busy, you could send me some. If you are busy, well, then don’t worry about it, it can wait. I’ve seen very few of the Oscar films, if you want to go to matinees of them, ring me up.

I mean it this time. That’s all.

My Amazon Express Checkout Payphrase today is this: “Teresa’s Doubtful Accuracy.” Which, thank you Amazon, will be the title of a book.

Are you following me on Twitter? Because you better be, I mean it. L. is going to Florida soon, so are the H.’s and I think I have cancer in my back. I suppose that’s not funny. My back hurts, though, it does and maybe it’s not cancer but instead an alien abduction gone bad. Botched in the night with me unaware.

I’m desperate for material, there are things in the works but who wants the works? Not me. Perhaps I’ll see Elvis the monkey today, go visit him at lunch. He might be dead, I find that with the animals who live here, when I don’t visit them enough they wind up dead. With Elvis it’s possibly been years. He lives in a glass cage where they make burgers, it’s just a few blocks up the road.

It’s raining, but I don’t really care. The pool’s still green, I’ve come to like it. I need to write a press release right now and grants so if you don’t mind very much, I’m going to go. Call me back.