In my mind, I could see the transparent container of blue-ish concentrated Basic H sitting in its familiar shelf in our laundry room, and I knew that my mom relied upon it like a bottle of miracles to kept our house clean and germ-free. To keep me safe.

Last night I was telling my husband why I’ve been such a bitch lately. I get lost, see. I get sad and lonely and feel unworthy. Then I do bad things.

Yesterday I didn’t want to use the internet at my house because we were on the verge of going over our

Photo credit: National Park Service (http://www.nps.gov/)

Driving home last night from an impromptu going-away party for our friends’ Australian exchange student, my daughter and I spotted a male elk towering alongside the road.

Without thinking, I  pumped the brakes and stopped the car right in front of him. The elk’s breath

The first time I went to NYC and told people I was from Alaska, they asked if I lived in an igloo. Unfortunately, no. I didn’t grow up in a house made of ice. That would’ve been way more exciting than our unremarkable middle-class house on Alaska’s Kenai Peninsula.

Aside the from

Plenty of people have stuff I don’t have–big houses, expensive cars, jewelry, and whatever else excessive disposable income buys. My budget has more limits.

But I’m no saint. I’m not immune to the cult of buying. Plastic picture frames, cheap throw rugs, and other unnecessary hoarder-in-training debris are scattered about my house.

Believe me,

I just read my last post about creating quirky characters and groaned. Out loud. And made that hideous pig-snorting face reserved for people who have just done something stupid.

What kind of an idiot makes herself into a cutsie fake character on a blog? To make matters worse, I read this

This week I’m reading  Stephen Chbosky’s The Perks of Being a Wallflower and, of course, now I’m thinking about how I like quirky, distinct characters in writing.

Also I’m wondering how best to create my own characters like Charlie, the book’s first-person narrator.

If you haven’t read the book, it’s worth the read. Unless

That’s what it feels like, this writing insanity: exposing yourself, then begging people to distribute the evidence.

The recent news that I’ve actually had my work accepted by a journal is bittersweet.

I’m completely neurotic about what my bio should say, my head shot, if my mother will disown me for the

*big sigh* Monday begins.

But my head is still back relaxing in my computer-free weekend in Sequim, Washington.

In addition to celebrating (belatedly) the birthday of a family member, I caught up on some reading.

Right before driving out on Friday night, I pulled from my “almost overdue” pile of library books  MariNaomi’s