So, it snows a lot in New England. So, FYI, if you had planned a relaxing retreat in coastal Connecticut--combining writing and job-seeeking with a few hours of infant care--there's a lot that could go wrong.
The baby could get the flu, for instance. Toxic poo might dribble from him constantly, punctuated by periods of retching (and I mean frat boy retching, not baby spit-up.) Then, maybe the two of you would get snowed in for the weekend, alone. Maybe you would wake up on Sunday, reeking of sour formula, and realize that you hadn't worn a bra for a few days.
Say the internet is down, and none of your friends call you any more.
Perhaps you're trying to quit smoking, and the whole wrold is the color of a box of Marlboro Lights.
Maybe you start to consider the baby's pacifier as a means of controlling your cravings.
Maybe you're bored with this speculative narrative voice.
I have 4 restaurant reviews and an artile of theaters to write today. I spent yesterday driving all over New Haven looking for an internet cafe, and when I finally found one it was a disaster. They had some security settings that prevented me from checking Gmail and Hotmail, none of you people had left me one single comment, and my blog post got erased because mac uses different keyboard short cuts than PCs. Who knew?
I know this makes me uncool, but I hate Macs.
It's lonely in Connecticut, and I have writer's block.
There's no diet Coke here.
I want a cigarette.