Happy Halloween 2017

Screen Shot 2017-11-01 at 10.10.49 AMHappy Halloween from your nicheless blogger — Amy Bronwen Zemser.  I don’t know what I’m doing with this website anymore. I have no goals, no niche, no demographic, no plan. I do have a cautionary tale, however.

I practically died last night. Halloween with three kids is always busy with costumes and squash-soup making and tea lights inside painted jars with triangular-shaped facial features. I always forget to eat and drink on days like these, assuming that a person in her late forties can subsist for twelve hours entirely on coffee. Not the warm drink, just the leftover grinds that spill from the filter onto the counter that I sweep into my mouth.

It was a great day and evening and the little ghosts and princesses and pirates are always so cute and anyway, self-care is overrated. It’s perfectly acceptable to eat three packages of Lemonheads at midnight by yourself while the rest of your family sleeps through their respective hyperglycemic episodes.

At two in the morning, after I’d posted all the videos and swept some candy wrappers under the sofa, I realized that I wasn’t feeling very well and there was a sharp pain coming from underneath my c-section scar that threatened imminent gastrointestinal distress. I had just put on the documentary about Joan Didion and was listening to her talk about Slouching Toward Bethlehem when I realized that I had better start Slouching Toward Toilet or something dramatic was going to happen in our living room from an orefice whose location I could not at that moment ascertain. Also, I couldn’t understand why the house felt so hot all of a sudden when it was barely thirty degrees outside and I’m too cheap to touch the thermostat until February. I was shaking badly, sweat balls burst from my skin, fire came out my ass. I saw Jesus.

I tried to call for Lynnie upstairs, but I knew everyone was in a corn syrup coma and besides I couldn’t get my voice loud enough for anyone to hear, except for maybe our kitten, Martin Luther, who was watching this scene with great introspection and ambivalence.

I tore off my clothes and hyperventilated for about ten minutes, slumping into the back of the toilet seat to avoid what had happened three weeks earlier, when I went through this same, apparently unmemorable, rigamarole. That time I’d blacked out and pitched forward, marking my forehead with the pattern of our upstairs bathroom tiles. That had hurt for some days, so I thought myself very resourceful for coming up with a toilet-sitting strategy to avoid a pitfall this time around.

Fortunately, I lived, which is useful, since I have an appointment today to talk to Ray’s fourth-grade teacher about his inability to raise his hand when he knows the answer. Lynn never came downstairs. At some point I got up and scrutinized my reflection, sort of wishing that the episode had occurred earlier in the evening. I could have been a ghoul for Halloween without needing any makeup at all. You could eat cereal in the craters below my ocular joints.

Drink water, dear readers. I checked the internet. You need water to not go blind, to keep your heart from getting overly speedy, and to keep yourself away from attending your own memorial service as the cadaver.

Middle age is such a downer. I used to be able to go about six weeks without any fluids. Now it’s like I gotta remind myself to drink a bunch of times a day unless I want to see all my relatives who lived in Odessa in 1885.

Hope your Halloween was not as thirsty as mine. Last year’s Halloween was less dangerous. I’ll link it when I figure out how to link things.






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