First steps

My poor head's been fogged today by a happiness hangover... enhanced, perhaps, by a wee infusion of gin from last night's impromptu election-watching party with the Weintribe. So I'll just let this one picture speak my thousand giddy words:















Wasn't it absolutely amazing? Do you find yourself listening to the speech over and over, pinching yourself that, yes: this actually happened? And do you tear up at the words and the realization every single time?

Do you admire how beautifully Chicago, the hometown of my heart, served as its backdrop? Oh, giddy squeal; oh, contented sigh. Oh, sweet mercy: yes.

Of course, I did realize this morning, when I awoke to my throbbing head and my cheeks, still tear-stained and sore from all the smiling, that the world today plays host to the very same troubles and challenges that plagued it yesterday.

But somehow, it feels like a new world, a more hopeful place. The potential for change, for one and all: it feels tangible to me now.

All because of a few first steps, taken long ago. Can't wait to see where the journey leads us...

Widget

Fidget

On and off throughout the day, I've considered and rejected any number of ideas for my daily dose of bloggy obligation.

Some ideas are, for the good of all, better off dead (what I ate for lunch today; which came first: the chicken or the egg).

Some ideas may yet see publication before the month is over (what's going on with my right foot; the heretofore unanticipated perils of memes).

But ultimately, the one idea that's captivating me tonight, that's moved and stirred me for the past year, and that will keep firm grasp on my attention for the next sixteen-plus hours, at least, is the presidential election.

Wildly do I vacillate between strutting, giddy confidence that my candidate of choice will easily sweep up the necessary electoral votes to secure victory and residency in the White House... and anxious, hair-chewing fretfulness that things won't go my way.

Tomorrow, I'm sure, I'll feel a heady mix of nervous energy and hope and a desire to do something, anything that feels minimally active and participatory.

The best solution, I find, is to plug in, keep a finger on the pulse. I don't wanna wait until Wednesday morning to read the headlines in the paper; I want to know, minute by minute, what's happening, when, where and why.

To kick things off, I'm downloading a widget from msnbc.com that promises to stream updated return information as it happens.

I'll also drain the battery on my iPhone, I'm sure, by refreshing Twitter at a generally obsessive pace, as well NPR's Election 2008 site.

What about you? What are your preferred resources for election news and numbers? Would you rather fast-forward to Wednesday, or focus your attention on celebrity gossip? Talk to me.

Sixty winks

I won't do it. You have my word.

I won't give in to the urge to rant and rave and froth at the mouth about the absurdity of today's time change.

I won't gripe in petty detail that it mucks with absolutely everything that matters, casually tosses me into a weeklong "No, wait: what time is it, really?" panic, plunges us into darkness just as the muppers ask to play outside for that narrow band of time betwixt dinner and bath.

I won't do it, because I? Have, by and large, slept through it.

And it's been quite lovely, actually.

This morning's sleepathon was prompted by a busier-than-usual Saturday night: first, a three-year-old's birthday party that ended with, um, absinthe, and second, a football game so horrendous and hateful that it prompted me to imbibe a whole lot more, if only to keep pace with my depressed and mumbling spouse.

So. Yeah. That was fun. Think I slumbered until... well, not until noon. But within sight of it.

Eventually, under some duress from still-depressed spouse and none-the-wiser muppers, I did rally: grateful, I'll add, for the extra time on the clock. It was decided that an outing was in order. Lunch! Chuy's. GOOD.

It didn't seem that unreasonable, really, to think that a nap might follow the consumption of all that Tex-Mex deliciousness. Just twenty minutes, I told a skeptical mr. f5. Promise.

Two hours later, it became apparent that the howler monkeys wreaking havoc in my dream were, in fact, my own three hyperactive muppers, dispatched by their father to wake up the slug in bed.

Oops.

By now, of course, it was dinnertime. The adults, still bloated on chili con queso, declined to partake in the evening meal, so I whipped up some couscous, spooned it out to the muppers and summarily crashed on the big red couch.

Because I was so very tired. From all the sleeping, don't you know.

Honestly, I'd still be there now, happily sawing logs and paying no heed to the clocks that still need to be turned back, or the messy wake from my day of sloth... if a tiny voice in my head hadn't forged through the ether and reminded me of my bloggy commitment.

And here we are. Not complaining about the time change; just yawning and yearning for more time in dreamland.

So, g'night. Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs snnklrrzzz...

When it began.

Hi. Allow me to introduce myself. My nom de plume is mrs. f5, and I'm a blogger.

Except... well, lately, not quite so much.

It's not that I've lost interest in blogs; far from it. I voraciously read other people's posts and musings, and obsessively micro-blog my own daily comings and goings.

But keeping up the pages of this, my first and foremost blog, launched only two years ago... yeah, that's not been happening lately.

I can't say exactly why, although I have a few half-formed theories, but I can say, decisively, that I've missed the regular practice of writing... anything of any substance, really... and sharing it with a predominantly invisible forum.

So, when Mrs. Kennedy, for the third year running, threw down the gauntlet for NaBloPoMo, I resolved to pick the thing up and dust this thing off.

I'm hoping to revive, recharge, reconnect, reach out and remember why blogging ever seemed like a good idea. And to relive and realize how much fun it was, when it began.

I'll fumble and trip along the way, I'm sure. Already it feels awkward, to string together thoughts in more than 140 characters.

But I'm no masochist; I'll cut myself some slack when needed. So expect to see a smattering of pictures or back-links or video clips to fill in the spaces where the words get stuck.

And so it begins...