"What happened to his hair, Sam?" I am sitting in my bed. It turns out my mattress sucks. I have become accustomed to much cushier digs while I have been traveling around "on tour" - which sounds so fancy but is really the least glamorous thing that there is - and my own bed does not meet the standards to which I have become accustomed. Also, my mother is no longer around to help me run errands and buy me food. This is unfortunate. But the thing that is currently upsetting me is my son's new haircut: he decided to shave his head last week, and my husband made the unfortunate decision to help him do it since I wasn't around to man the clippers. I can assure you he is regretting that now, and the results are, um, well...... not very flattering. I'll say that. We are trying to talk it out, but there is not much talking going on. More of the yelling and obscene hand gestures.
The past few days have been brutal. I came home late Sunday night after 22 hours of travel; exhausted, dehydrated, slightly congested and totally constipated. I needed a hot bath, a cup of tea, and a bong. Sadly, I do not own a bong, and I'm pretty sure my bong days are behind me. So I had a bowl of ice cream instead. Almost as good.
Not quite, but almost.
For the first 12 hours, I cried.
I cried because I was tired and feeling like crap.
I cried because I couldn't find the book I wanted to read.
I cried because our homeowners insurance was renewed with the wrong company.
I cried because my son had decided to shave his head the week before school picture day.
I cried because during my trip I had sent home gifts for Christmas and they had been distributed to their recipients already, even though it was only October.
I cried because even though I had bought a ton of presents, I forgot to buy Sam a birthday present.
I cried because I needed to unpack my suitcase.
I cried because the stove was dirty.
I cried because the shower was dirty.
I cried because we don't have a housekeeper and I was going to have to clean the stove and the shower.
I cried because the grapes weren't organic.
I cried because the cream was expired.
I cried because the crying made my eyes all puffy and I looked ancient.
I cried because I need a bikini wax.
I cried because - after 2 weeks of complaining about the cold on the mainland - I was hot.
This went on and on and on.
Sam stayed as far away as possible, and practically skipped down the driveway to go to work on Monday.
The kids, who had thought they might want to stay home from school to spend the day with me because they had missed me so much, decided by 8am that school sounded like a really good idea after all.
I cried about that too.
I didn't used to cry much, until I did. I guess reading that chapter out loud last week was like pulling the cork out of my emotional dam, and now? Waterworks. All day long.
I've been home for 3 days now. I stopped boo hoo-ing like an idiot yesterday, but I still get all misty-eyed when I remember that the shower needs scrubbing. I thought I would return from the mainland feeling triumphant but instead I feel like the world's biggest failure: I set up a series of readings that a handful of people (THANK YOU FOR BEING THERE YOU GUYS WHO WERE THERE) attended, contacted a bunch of bookstores that said no, and left a box of books sitting on my mothers floor unsold. And my kid is bald and my house is filthy.
I am not victorious.
Every day, several times a day, someone calls or emails or texts to thank me for writing the book, or to tell me they enjoyed it, or that they gave it to a friend.
And then, of course, I cry. Again.
So that's it. The BAMF tour is officially, as they say in my hometown, OVAH.
I'm still working away - the book is going through a round of edits right now to track down and eliminate all of the pesky little typos and punctuation errors, and then I am going to get it up on a few new platforms and in a few more bookstores. It will be a life-long project, this book. I just want to sell enough copies to buy a new mattress. And a wig for my kid - the crew cut is scaring me.
7 hours ago