Okay, another book is done. Pippin and Dash have their story. And I am no longer chained to my office and computer. I’ve spent the last few days blinking owlishly at the world and of course, shopping for RWA’s national conference in San Francisco next week. Shoes, a couple of new dresses, makeup, the usual stuff. I asked my editor if she stresses about going to conference and what to wear, then we laughed over it, because she actually has her work clothes, so for her the clothes aren’t the problem, but apparently getting all her shoes in the suitcase can be a bit tricky.
Now for me, clothes are the problem. And the shoes (more of a lack of than too many) and don’t even venture into my poor selection of makeup. And since I can’t wear my standard Target issued Mommy wear to Nationals, hence I have to shop, something I liken to going to the dentist or having a pap smear, or both at the same time. You know what I mean by Mommy wear–the bleach stained jeans and ratty t-shirts, which are my usual daily wear. I’m afraid I’m not one of those carpool moms (CPMs for short) who heads out to school with her car full of children with properly packed lunches, their homework double checked and her face perfectly made up . . . just in case another CPM wants to meet up at 909 or Starbucks for skinny soy lattes. No, I’m the one who’s late, the kids have some semblance of lunch (God, I hope they do) and their homework is somewhere on the greater North American continent. So they aren’t pressed and ironed, but they know their geography, all from me saying, “Where the hell is your homework?”
But I digress, and I still have nothing to wear. Whatever I wore last year became my standard issue for everything else I did over the last twelve months and I’ve worn it into a frazzle. So it is time to reload. I wish I had been born with that shopping gene, but it missed me entirely and instead I drag myself through the stores with my list of events and things I need to attend and consider what I want to wear for each–business casual, business formal, dressy, some mix of whatever I can get away with. I shouldn’t stress over this, but I do, so there it is.
In the end, I go to Nationals, hunker down with friends and get all caught up, drink lattes and chat, go to parties and feel awkward, go to parties and discover a long lost friend. And when I come home full of all sorts of ideas, and inspiration, and memories, I really never remember what I was wearing. Expect perhaps for the new shoes . . . if they’ve left my feet all blistered. But I always remember my friends and how good it is to see them.
How is your closet? Good to go or like mine?