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A Missive From the Wilds

Sorry for no pics— I am in the mountains writing great slathering heaps of novel and the internet keeps popping off before I can upload them. I AM TAKING PLENTY (although I am taking them with the camera in Pocket Spock—my droid phone— so they aren’t, like, Ansel Adams or anything) and shall when I have better internet show you the simply MAD number of Moose in this cabin. This is not a sane number of moose. Truly.

One of the moose-legion is a little resin figurine that seems to be invented to hold glasses or …maybe a pack of cards? Hard to tell. We have named him Porn Moose, for reasons you will understand when I can get the pics loaded, and we are scouring the internet to find him so we can buy our own to be used as a Poker Winner Trophy.

This morning as I was hiking to get my endorphin-powers to activate before drafting, Karen and I saw a couple of lady deers go bounding across the road, maybe 10 feet away. They were sleek and summer brown and big eared and darling. Also, the nicest thing about them is that they were not slavering, hiker-starved bears, though some of us may have wet our pants a little when they first came crashing out of the braken.

This fall, I am getting an INTERN. Her name is Allison, and she will be working with me for a bit on various things. Allison, I strongly suspect, has organizational skills. PLURAL. I wonder what’s that like…I don’t even have organizational skill.

She wrote me an email asking if I wanted to get started on some of our projects early…well. If you read yesterdays entry you know that no, I do not want to add anything to my plate just now, even a PEA. Even a MOLECULE OF AIR.

So I politely declined, and here you understand that “politely declined” means I burst into tears and threatened to pull my own head off with pliers.

HER: Do not self-decapitate. We’ll [start] later in the summer when you’re not awash in good stress. You do realize this is all good stress, right? You’re able to send your kids to camp. You’re finishing up a job that you’re really great at, helping gifted writers at VCFA. You’re going to spend a week imbibing and writing with your besties in the mountains. You’re going to celebrate your parents’ 50 years of marriage in the city that gave us Paula Deen and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. These are all great things.

Me: Ha, You are a brightsider! I am not. I am an optimist, but not a brightsider, which means…

My glass is always half full, but I am open to the possibility that it is half full of poisonous bees.

For the record, I do not believe in CAMP. I think children should be wrapped in gauze and carefully placed in a hermetically sealed chamber with bomb proofing and purified oxygen, and not let out until you, the mother of them, are safely dead and can’t see camp kill them via lake drowning or slavering, child-starved bears. *BEAM*

I also do not believe in “good” stress. I believe in endorphins, liquor, and PAYING SOME [redacted] ATTENTION TO THE CALENDAR so one doesn’t suddenly realize one has scheduled 180 hours worth of things into a 48 hour period.

This is my own fault. This blindsided me a week ago when I suddenly realized how many things were coming to fruition – my whole life was just fru-it-ing all OVER the place, it was like that PLANT SEX that happens here in the spring every year, the air so full of obligations it went yellow with the dern pollenation of it all. BAD BAD PLANNING.

Please remit pity. And chocolate.

HER: I’m not sure my husband would agree with your characterizing me as a “brightsider.” I just have the benefit of seeing things from my perspective, which you don’t in the middle of your plant sex orgy fantasy.
If you’d started working with me earlier – you know, for this internship that didn’t exist until last week – you could blame me for all of your miscreant calendaring. Let that be something to look forward to – you’ll have a scapegoat in just a couple of months.

Let me say, I LOVE THIS IDEA. I love it so much I decided to blame her RETROACTIVELY, for not existing in my life EARLIER so this juxtaposition would have been pre-rendered un-possible.

But you know what? I forgive her, magnanimously, because I am sweet like that, and ummm, also maybe because when I get home she is going to move me out of 1954 and into a time, say in the 90’s, when people began to have MACHINES be their calendars.

That ought to be perfect! Right up until I drop Pocket Spock the Droid Phone into a New York city public toilet…

16 comments to A Missive From the Wilds

  • Sideswipe a hippie. It’ll make you feel better. (It’s okay. He won’t be missed. We got more than we can handle.)

  • Google FTW! Insert all of the “things to do” and “upcoming craziness” into Google’s calendar app…which might happen magic-like since you use a Droid (my iphone and mbp play very nicely with Google and they are arch-nemisis). Then you could access all that info on you desktop because all of Google’s apps are in the “cloud” and not stored locally, YAY. This eliminates problems that might arise from dropping your Pocket Spock in the toilet or tossing your laptop out some window or Boggart shorting out your desktop with his teeth.

    And oh how I love this: “My glass is always half full, but I am open to the possibility that it is half full of poisonous bees.” This is so ME!

  • I feel obligated to defend myself after rereading that post. I have had no alcohol today. Promise. But I MAY need more sleep.

  • Em

    Be honest. Is Allison a new personality in your mind? A new book character with organizational skills that you intend on adopting? Are your fantasies emailing you now?

  • HA Tenessa that was practically written in a CODE that only a best beloved could crack.

    Em—you kill me. Yes, I have thought before of inventing an imaginary assistant to tell people I died right after I lost the sacred paper calendar and started flaking on things.
    I was goin got name him HORACE. Or PERCY. He woudl send out little notes on linen paper, lemon scented, that said, “Ms. Jackson deeply regrets her failure to appear at your nuncheon, where she was to offer a post-finger-sandwich literary address. Unfortunately, she had been torn asunder by bears only hours before the date, and is currently resting comfortably in several pieces on the croquet lawn.”

    But yes, Virginia, there IS an Allison. An actual real human with a pulse of her very own. Pinky swear.

  • Scottsdale Girl

    Well [REDACTED!]I wish I had known such a gig existed. I long to be the assistant of someone famous and hilarious. Damn. Although I do not live in Georgia…meh,details. Oh wait, INTERN = NOT PAID right? that wouldn’t work. Although I would do it for free if I could!
    Related: Do you know Jenny McCarthy or Chelsea Handler or Tina Fey? If so, please let them know I am an excellent assistant. Thanks!

    Mooooose!

  • Michelle-who-is-Shelley

    I do not believe in “good stress” either. Stress significantly decreases my ability to focus and uses up 90 percent of my energy. There is nothing good about that.

  • First of all, I think Allison is gonna be able to hold her own with you AND your legendary (and very entertaining) brand of crazy.

    Secondly, I am somewhat JEALOUS of Allison because, gah, she gets to be your intern. . .however, seeing as how I unloaded a metric TON of file-folder-ish crap from my filing cabinet today as I packed my classroom to move to another, and didn’t leave school until 10:41 pm (after arriving at 7:40 am–THAT’S RIGHT–FOURTEEN HOURS I WAS THERE), I think I am too much of a non-skillz bearing, procrastinating, paper hoarder to be ANYONE’S intern.

    And C–I need an Allison, please. Or some slavering bears to rip me assunder.

  • Brigitte

    I’m kinda with Scottsdale Girl . . but since I’m thousands of miles away, completely unorganized, and lazy as all heck, I guess I’ll just have to feel glad for her and love her for assisting you instead. 😉

  • Aimee

    I must first advocate for you NOT to drop Pocket Spock in any toilet, least of all a NYC public toilet. GAH! Please try not to. Spock would not enjoy that.

    Second, I must ask you to PLEASE not be torn asunder by slavering bears, even if it is preferable to adding another molecule of air and/or a pea to your plate. Mkay?

  • What are you people doing up there that you have managed to incorporate PLANT SEX and PORN MOOSE within a mere blog post? On second thought, maybe I don’t want to know…

  • Librarian D

    Good stress is what makes me get my a## in gear and get things done. Getting things done = good.

  • floppert

    I’m shocked but very pleased to report that if you Google “porn moose” and “plant sex” in one search the only result that comes up is this post. It makes me almost hopeful for humanity.

    Note… I probably would have been more hopeful if I hadn’t Googled “porn moose” by itself first.

  • “I am an optimist, but not a brightsider, which means…
    My glass is always half full, but I am open to the possibility that it is half full of poisonous bees.”

    I may just have to post this quote on my Facebook. I promise to give you credit but it is too wonderful to keep to myself.

    ALSO, I was going to tell you, but Tenessa beat me to it, that with your Droid, your calendar is right there on Google. This came in very handy for me last week when hoodlums stole my beloved Xena (she is a Droid X) and, before I realized she was even gone, had downloaded all manner of horrible music to her. I have a new phone, but somewhere out there is a device with tunes from Michael W Smith, Nicole C Mullen, and some very foul mouthed fellow called Lil Boosie. BUT…I still know that I have a hair appt next week so all is good.

  • “My glass is always half full, but I am open to the possibility that it is half full of poisonous bees.” … this shall become both my favorite way of describing my outlook on life (full credit to you, of course!) and exhibit A of ‘why Joshilyn Jackson is my favorite writer.’
    And I’d like to join in on the ‘totally jealous of Allison’s internship’ chorus. But let me just say, if you ever need an intern with poor organizational skills and a way of procrastinating that can only described as an artform, and whose mental illness number rivals your own, I’m totally available!

  • les in az

    You “glass is half full but it might be full of bees” made me laugh so hard. I had to read that out loud. My new favorite signature line. Don’t worry I’ll make sue to give you all the credit you deserve. Happy writing bat crap crazy!