All of a sudden, this morning, it hit me: I’m going to Canada next week! Whoa. I kept thinking that this trip was, you know, in late September. Which was forever away. But it is NOT and I need to get my act together. I have been in non-book mode for weeks now, which means I’m basically just hanging with my kid, wearing flip flops and t-shirts, and spending most of my time and money at Whole Foods. (It’s a sickness with me and that place, I swear to you. In fact, I am there RIGHT now, scarfing down a turkey wrap, which is my newest addiction. But I digress.) The upshot with the traveling is that I have to get my game back on, somehow. Eyebrows need waxing, clothes have to go to the dry cleaner, and I probably SHOULD finally go through the mess of receipts and shoes in my suitcase that I have been avoiding since the last work trip. Whoops.

That said, I am super pumped. I’ve been wanting to go do appearances in Canada forever, but it’s never worked out until now. For info on dates and places, go here. And AFTER Canada, I’ll be going down to DC for the National Book Festival, which I have heard great things about for years now. The schedule for that is here.

I think it’s going to be a good for me to get back into work mode, as I feel I have become entirely too concerned with various domestic minutiae lately. Like the fact that the squirrels in my yard have now gone beyond just knocking the cap off my feeder over to actually absconding with the cap entirely. Also, I may be spending a bit too much time preparing yummy snacks for our chickens. (We throw them the leftover bread and fruit, but I MIGHT be toasting/chopping said leftovers as well. I know, I know. But it just makes them so happy! And they come running when they see me! Who doesn’t want that kind of adulation?)

It’s always odd to me, actually, how I have so much trouble melding these two parts of my life. On the one hand, I am a mom, wife, daughter, object of worship for poulty. And then, sometimes, I am a Writer who goes on book tour and speaks at conferences and all that. The two feel as separate as Clark Kent and Superman to me, but I wish that wasn’t the case. I guess we all play different roles, depending on who we are with and what we are doing. As it is, though, Me at Home is frazzled, always exhausted, and barely keeping her head above water. Me as a Writer is basically the same, but with recently done nails and better clothes. And no chickens. At least, not yet.

Okay, I really need to get out of this place before they start charging me rent. I wish I was kidding.

Have a good day, everyone!