One year ago today, the batteries on my carbon monoxide alarm failed. I know this because there was a series of messages left on my cell phone, from the neighbor girls who were cat sitting for me, from their Mom, and then from my Mom, in increasing states of grumpiness over having to evacuate my cats from my house (which was done before it was established that this was an equipment failure and not an emergency) and over the fact that no one could reach me for over four hours. "I hope you're having fun at the beach," was what the last message said.
Except I wasn't at the beach. I was sitting in a classroom at UCSD, critiquing stories with the rest of my Clarion class, under the wise and benevolent aegis of Kelly Link.
"They make you go to class on the holiday?" Mom asked after I explained that my phone had been turned off and so I hadn't known about the seven voice mails. I hadn't really thought about it as being made to do anything. It was what I wanted to be doing.
And yes, I wrote today.