Whatever has happened to me lately has dried up all my words. I suppose part of it could be guilt at not having worked this weekend, combined with apathy and a late Saturday night which left me groggy and stupid all day today. It was one of those days where pyjamas seem like the most appropriate choice and ice-cream would go nicely, thank-you-very-much.

Anyone actually reading this blog lately would now be coming to the conclusion that I am rapidly putting on weight, but fortunately (unfortunately?) I talk about ice-cream a lot more than I eat it. And cake. I haven’t actually eaten much cake.

That said, I did make a pecan pie tonight. It’s my mother’s fault. She left a funny little message on my answering machine this morning begging for pecan pie tomorrow. It really is the best: maple pecan pie, to be exact. (Very Cracker Barrel of me; I should provide rock-candy in various fruity flavours and sell country-cookin’ books, kitty aprons and vintage Coca-Cola tins.)

Incidentally, Mum thought we didn’t answer the phone because we were either sleeping off a late night out (oh, the social animals that we are) or at church. What does that say about us, I wonder? The answer, by the way, was church, which surprised the both of us as we mumbled and groaned around each other this morning trying to find unwrinkled clothes and attempting to wash out all traces of the look-at-me-I’ve-barely-slept from the bags beneath our eyes as we washed hair and munched bagels.

How come Hegel rhymes with bagel? They’re not spelt the same. That has always puzzled me. (Voice in head: “That’s what always puzzled you about Hegel?). I’m always concerned that there might be a difference in British and American pronunciation on these things – which, of course, there usually is, though often after I’ve made a fool out of myself. So I was trying to bare this in mind when talking about Iragaray’s take on the ‘Hegelian dream’ this week when I met my supervisor. There I am, full intellectual steam ahead, and all I can think is – oh, coming up to the bagel bit. Remember the bagel. And then there it was – Hegelian. There’s no bagelian (maybe there should be…). I paused. Disaster.

Perhaps a Gilmore Girls overload has messed with my brain. Hence the post title.

So tomorrow my parents are coming to eat pecan pie. This, by the way, will mean four days without so much as attempting to work. The well-deserved-rest is starting to draw out a little too long, and I have visions of all those ideas I was so sure I had in my head gradually petering out, hour-by-hour.

Meanwhile, I have done nothing today and still didn’t manage to make it through the whole newspaper. Although, if the quality of today’s paper is judged by the page-three story (how appropriate), I’m not sure I missed much. News of the day: the sex-blogger whose online presence is a sickening moment-by-moment description of her sex-crazed life (and who has just released a book compiling her entries) has been tracked down and had her name revealed by none other than that highly reputable source, The Sunday Times. The photographer sent the woman a bouquet of flowers so that he could stand behind a bush by her door and snap photos (which courteously received a transparent black banner across her eyes, just so you wouldn’t be able to tell her identity…).

I’m thinking the editor had a momentary memory lapse that affected only the last eight letters of his publication’s title.

It’s late again, and this time Mum won’t be leaving a machine message to wake me up tomorrow morning…