Consummate

I just erased a long piece of irreverent writing about pregnancy.  We all know what it means.  We celebrate everything but the first act.  Somehow women are just pregnant and it is wonderful and beautiful and joyous.  When we think of how they got that way, though. . . well even the best of men are dirty rotten evil sex-crazed fellows, aren't they?  But there I go again.  Irreverence is not always everyone's cup of tea, especially when wildly told in big generalities that are the mainstays of a Tea Party Convention.  It makes for fierce and frenzied narrative, but in the end can only get you into trouble.  You can do it about something like the Post Office or Starbucks, or even people who work there, but pregnancy and the pregnant are more sacred than the Pope.  

But I have to write about something.   I can't just tell you more about what I have eaten or drunk or about working or going to the gym or how I have or have not slept.  

I would like to go into a summer's torpor.  That would solve a lot of things.  

Whatever happened to that boy who was a stow away in the wheel well of the jet that flew from L.A. to Hawaii?  They said he might suffer brain damage from the cold and lack of oxygen.  It might be difficult to tell since he obviously had some damage to start, but after all the speculation about the boy, the story just disappeared.  Whatever happened to responsible news coverage?  

That's about all I can muster, I guess.  Perhaps it is momentary and will all be better tomorrow.