I went to sleep at seven this morning. Let me never have insomnia again, okay? I’m very bad at it.

Those of you on my notify list were treated to a cheery long email from me, and I read it again this morning to verify that I didn’t completely lose my shit there. Instead I lost it offline at around six. I’m better now, though I feel like I’ve been washed ashore.

According to an online translator here’s what this Dutch site has to say about my FOX news appearance:

“And new item with FOX TERRIER on the American TV over the phenomenon weblogging. Apparently little ‘usual’ men know it, to bath. Wrapped for the mad that this photographed and overgetypt, fixed a blogger.”

I’m so glad he agrees my wrapped was to bath. I knew someone out there would understand.

is Big Happy Funhouse. All found photos, all the time.

Also, it goes without saying that I need the phrase SEVEN HOMESCHOOLED CHILDREN embroidered on a cross-stitch sampler.

I haven’t told you about My Seven Homeschooled Children. My Seven Homeschooled Children are of course metaphorical children, but in my mind they’re quite real. They became a part of my life after I’d found a couple of Mormon teen romance novels a few months back. It would take too much time to explain how these books even came to my attention but I was fascinated with them.

I started looking on the internet and found the Mormon teen romance novel author’s webpage. She had a FAQ section, which included something like this:

Q: What is your writing process like?
A: Well, when you’re raising seven homeschooled children it can be hard to find time to write! But I manage to fit it in somehow!

I was instant-messaging with a friend while I was reading this page and I sent over the link. “Read this,” I said. “Does it say ‘seven homeschooled children’?” My friend wrote back: “Holy crap, it says SEVEN HOMESCHOOLED CHILDREN.” Seven homeschooled children!

Sometimes I think I don’t have enough time to write but obviously I have no fucking excuse, seeing as how I have no quantity of children, schooled or otherwise, at home or elsewhere. It’s become my mantra for when I’m feeling sorry for myself for having to juggle writing and the rest of my life with a full-time job. I’ll think, how the hell am I going to get these pages done? and then I’ll think Seven homeschooled children. Can’t I just blow off finishing this piece tonight? Seven homeschooled children say no! And as much as it makes me lonely and sad and resentful to have to turn down social stuff when I have a deadline, it sort of helps to say, “I’m sorry, but I have to stay home and feed My Seven Homeschooled Children tonight.”

I have yet to actually name My Seven Homeschooled Children, though. I’m too busy for that shit.

How weirdly synergistic that the New York Times has a piece on the new American Girl Place in Manhattan. (login: poundy5, password: poundy) Do you understand my obsession with this place now?

Oops, but I’ve been home all week trying to stay off the internet.

In case any of you have been wondering about my skittish trackpad finger, my solution was to get a cute little optical mouse for my iBook. I’m sure that in time I’ll get used to feeling up my computer, but since I’m switching back and forth between a desktop machine and a laptop so much right now, I’m sticking with the mouse.

Over at Gapers’ Block you can see what my friend Shylo and I did for kicks a few months ago, which was go to the cafe at American Girl Place with a tarted-up knockoff doll we got at Target. Ever since American Girl Place opened and I heard that the cafe serves dolls I’ve been fascinated with the place.

They are pretty hardcore about the cafe reservations there. When I called they asked for my credit card number and my daughter’s name. “Uh… Shylo?” I said. They requested her date of birth. I couldn’t think of the appropriate year. “She’s uh, seven,” I said. “Now when was that? They grow up so fast.” I actually thought we’d get in some kind of trouble for showing up childless and with a fucked-up doll. It turned out fine, though. The waitress said that women come in for lunch all the time, and they borrow dolls that have been set out in the cafe for that purpose. No, really, they have private dancer dolls.

I still have the doll we brought, by the way. I bring her out at parties, and guys confess to being oddly attracted to her.