Am I really going to write another stream of consciousness post just eight days after my first one? I think so. Things are brutal around here. I have eleven days with baseball games out of twelve; every day except Sunday has a game. I had a meeting last night that went far longer than expected, and when I got out, I had a text message saying my wife's car was broken down, so I went back to the ball field and hung out with her until the tow truck guy came. I got to bed, exhausted, around 10:00, which is about an hour after my normal bed time. I forgot to relieve myself first, though, so I ended up flooding our mattress. Okay, that didn't really happen, but it might as well have. When it rains, it pours, so to speak. But I don't think there's any rain in the forecast. Things are awfully dry for May, especially considering that it has reached 80 only once this year. If this were California, we'd be prepping for an inferno. You ever read Joan Didion's essay "Fire Season"? Good stuff. I bought her We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live last year and have really enjoyed it. I read her essays and try to figure out what makes them good, then I apply it to my writing. Really shows, huh? I did the same with Mark Steyn and Joseph Epstein essays two years ago and it dawned on me: These guys pack their essays with interesting facts, plus sidelights of humor and insightful commentary. It takes a lot longer to write an essay with lots of facts, but the end-product is much more interesting to the reader. The essays aren't just some guy telling people what he thinks. But now all of a sudden this post has become uncomfortable to write.
