Where's Elle?

When I don't blog for a while, it generally means one of the following:A) Something really bad has happened, and I lack the inner strength to make light of it in blog form, and would much prefer to sulk in a dark cave while building voodoo dolls of the evil perpetrators, or drinking myself into a small coma.B) My life has become even more boring than usual, and writing about it would be a cruel, evil punishment for the poor fools who try to enjoy my humble babblings. In fact, it would be an exercise in sadism. So I stay away from the keyboards and interwebs of the world, for your safety and well being. Cuz I'm just that kind of gal, damn it.C) The zombies have finally risen up, and all is chaos. In which case I would be writing blog entries to a dead world, and then only if the internet still worked by some miracle. On the upside, my website would be the most-viewed in the WORLD because it would be the ONLY blog in the world. See, I'm positive! Zombie apocalypse has its bright side!D) I've been writing a lot (as in my own work, not just the mental spew I spray across the screen here).In this case, options A, B, and D apply (COME ON, C! I am totally prepared!). The short version that won't send me on a bile-filled rage-fest is that another close relative died, and there was serious family drama and legal nightmares, and then nothing happened for a while, and continued to happen, and I wrote a lot because it was the only thing that kept me from exploding with boredom.On that note, I'm nearing 300 hand-written pages, a fact that would be more exciting if I could decipher my own script (the only way I can write fiction by hand, which is weird because otherwise I never write cursive). (Do you think that Ernest Hemingway had to ask his mom to help him read his own handwriting? Maybe, but only if he was drunk, and then punched her out following her answer. I cannot do these things, as my mother would kick my ass.)I'm in the Hamptons (ooooh, ritzy joy), mooching off my aunt and her family, and essentially lazing around because I have a slight bug and it's kicking my ass enough that moving has become unpleasant and cruel. The beach is lovely, and I even wore a bathing suit yesterday. I've lost over fifty pounds, and can now be called 'average' to 'thin.' Which is very, very weird, and something I still haven't wrapped my smallish brain around just yet.It's hard to smoke around here. My younger cousins don't know, and I really don't want them to find out, because it would result in screaming, crying, lecturing, and lots of frantic apologies and guilt that frankly I don't need in my life at this juncture, damn it. So I have to sneak out at odd times, speed-smoke, all the while looking around like a paranoid rabbit, expecting to be caught at any second by my adorable but troublesome relatives. I'm lucky if I get three a day. I haven't had one yet today. That was almost like an angsty poem!See, this is what happens when I have nothing to say, but post a blog entry. You asked for it. And if you didn't, I'm sure you deserved it anyway.Just a quick hello to my friends, be they traveling our fair country with their mother, or sailing the seven seas doing things I don't really understand but find immensely impressive nonetheless.It's a beautiful day, and I'm going to make 300 pages today if I have to kill. Sacrifices must be made for my work.- LV

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