There’s been somewhat of an unscheduled hiatus this week, for which I apologise. Regrettably, the real world has a tendency to impinge upon the literary state, although ironically, the impingements have themselves been of a literary nature, with essays, column deadlines and writer’s block coming into confluence with my husband’s birthday, our first wedding anniversary, university dinners (read: tapas and wine, followed by after hours vodka on the Old Quad roof) and other such abundantly pleasant and necessary distractions. Also, and I say this with feeling, it has been virtually impossible to write about the American election, which constitutes most of what I’ve wanted to write about. One can only gnash one’s teeth about Sarah Palin, bailouts and Republican idiocy for so long before the urge to start prophecying the End Times triggers a failsafe reflex, viz: Get The Hell Away From The Keyboard Before Prising Up The Space-Bar And Doing Yourself A Mischief.
With that in mind, I’ll probably be back to normal sometime in the coming week. Anyone distressed by this prospect should breathe deeply into a paper bag, making sure to exhale slowly.