Back of the House

So I just finished this book, Carry On, Warrior: Thoughts on Life Unarmed  by Glennon Doyle Melton . Holy crap. Holy  crap. Holy crap. I'm going to be responding to various specific essays and themes in the days and weeks to come, on and off, but, yeah. This one is dead on, even if you don't struggle with bulimia and alcoholism, even if you don't tangle with mental illness, even if you don't have kids. Glennon gets it. Whatever it  is, she gets it. And then she shares it. So, yeah. Watch this space.

Well, I've done it. I've admitted I need help. I can't do this alone, and it's not fair to burden Tor or Cheryl with it. I can't make Herself live in such chaos anymore. I've contacted a professional organizer. With G-d as my witness, I will never trip over my carpet cleaner again. What did you think I was going to say? You'd think I had a history of dramatic announcements involving my mental health or something...

Okay, so it turns out that not all  the girls I went to middle schools turned out to be total wastes of space. I've  wound up friending several of them on Facebook, and aside from occasional epic differences in politics (southern Maryland is The South, y'all, and don't you forget it). One in particular I've rebonded with is  Erin Gross . Erin is a totally fun blogger and a wicked writer. She's fun, and funny, and made a hell of an Ebeneezer Scrooge when we put him on trial for a book report project in the eighth grade. She is also, emphatically, an extrovert . Her son, it turns out, is an introvert . She has been completely, and sometimes painfully, honest about her quandaries about how to raise a person with such different needs from herself. This is where I come in. I am an introvert. Wow am I an introvert. I need a day off to recover from family dinners involving more people than my immediate family. So, when Erin would make a blog post about ...