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When Kimmery Gets Distracted

Today’s topic is Writing Through Distraction, which I feel eminently qualified to discuss because my God, it is freakishly cold in here. I think my hand just fell off. Where did I put those fingerless gloves and the little ski-package hand warmer thingies?

The key to writing through the inevitable maelstrom of carnage that will occur as you are trying to finish your assignment is holy smoke! Modern Mrs. Darcy just followed me back on Instagram! Must call best friend to discuss.

When distractions occur, do NOT bite! How many times have I said biting other people is not an acceptable means of resolving disputes, even if they did mess with the X-box in the middle of your game? Oh, you mean she bit you? He called you a Giant Stinky Butt? Whatever. Figure this out quietly or I am going to count to three, and then I am going to haul both your stinky little butts up to your rooms and lock you in. One…

Now: back to distraction article. Will commence as soon as I investigate horrible noise. Turns out youngest child has simultaneously activated all Alexas in the house to play “The Gummy Bear Song” at top volume. (Mental note: find out how she does that and disable that feature.)

Distracti—Yippee! Doorbell! Might be big stack of free books. Be right back.

Dang. Was teenager selling “local coupon book” to raise money for lacrosse team’s expedition to Mongolia for a crucial intercontinental tournament. But I’ve always wanted 57 coupons for a Bojangles Chicken sandwich, so that’s all good. Just going to check Twitter for a sec, then will get right back to it.

Hee hee, Trump just declared himself a “very stable genius.” Best phrase ever.

Lunchtime! Am starving.

Bwthft. Food coma. Going to nip out to Starbucks to try to combat all the Bojangles.

Distr—it really is cold in here. Something must be wrong with heating system.

Knew it! Heating man says condensation pipes exiting house have frozen and must be thawed by pouring 140 gallons of boiling water over them. I only have two pots left since oldest child commandeered the others to make slime and then left them to rust in the yard (note to self: buy more pots) and it takes ten minutes to bring water to boil, so let’s see… that would be 700 minutes, not counting the time it takes bundle up and traipse outside 140 times without spilling boiling water on my feet.

Waiting for first pot to boil, but thinking of structure of this week’s Debutante Ball post, so time is not wasted. Also—need to check heating bill. Did I pay it last month? Cannot rememb—What The Actual F**k?


They need to hire more people to answer the phones at the energy company.

I said just wait a minute, I am on hold on the phon—say what? She barfed where? Why was she in my bed? Oh honey, we can wash your unicorn. Let me just take a look at—Mother of God.

Okay, sheets are in washer, comforter has been bundled into plastic to drop at dry cleaner’s, beloved unicorn is soaking in Oxyclean, vomit has been scrubbed off the walls with Magic Eraser. Heating system still frozen, though, so WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TURN OFF THE BOILING WATER? YOU ARE SITTING THREE FEET FROM THE STOVE, HOW COULD YOU NOT NOTICE THE SCORCHED SMELL WHEN THE POT EXPLOD—never mind. I will deal with this. You go downstairs and see why your brother is yelling.

Smoke is coming out of the X-box? I don’t care about the—he barfed on it? He’s barfing too? Okay, let’s just, um, put on gloves and unplug it. Oh nooooo. The new couch! The new carpet! Oh sweet baby, I’m sorry, I know it was an accident. What were you eating that was so … bright and chunky? Never mind, never mind. Let’s get you in the bathtub.

Husband is home, thank God. Will just slip back to computer and—

Husband is vomiting.

Must find hotel with functional heat, must also be willing to accept Ebola victims.

Dammit, forgot to unplug X-box. Somehow it has burned hole in the floor.


Pretty certain someone prescribed me some Xanax a few years back during time of personal tragedy, which I hid in a baggie in my closet. I think. Or maybe in the drawer where I keep bills? No one ever looks in there so that would be logical hiding place. Oh, here we go. Expired three years ago but this is emergency.

Oh crap, I forgot I replaced the Xanax with Phenergan. What a shtupid thing to do. Will come in handy when I inevitably shtart throwing up but in the meantime I am feeling very shleepy. Wonder if Uber hash policy againsht transhporting shick and/or drugged people? Think I will jush lay down for a minute—

Omigod. Article was due yesterday.

Writings By Kimmery Martin
Book Reviews By Genre
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