Ummmm

Okay people, I have tried. I have.

First attempt at a blog post for tonight resulted in three pages of the most mopy blog thoughts you’ve ever had the misfortune to read. I executed a beautiful swan dive into the Bog O’ Me, and did a spectacular Self Pity Swim Routine before winding up with a flourish of Whiny Self Absorption. I have done you all a great service by not posting it, and you all owe me a beer the next time you see me. So there.

Second attempt at a blog post for tonight resulted in four pages of the Most Execrable Navel Gazing Poor Me, Poor Pitiful Me, Wah Wah Wah musings. I have done you all a great service by not posting it, and you all owe me two beers the next time you see me. So there.

There are things I’m trying to say in those pages of muck. Things that I think are valuable, because I’m being too open, too honest in saying them, so I think that I need to post them in order to be held accountable or learn something about myself, or whatever. I’ll try to fish them out later.

I’m teetering on the edge of being sick. I had a particularly nasty allergy attack when I moved back from the housesitting house last week (my neighbor called out through her window the next morning to ask if I needed medication, as apparently she heard the window ratting achoos from the night before), and I don’t think my immune system has recuperated yet. Then there’s the Good News/Bad News bit where any time I get close to dipping under 120 pounds, my body decides to punish me by getting sick. I know there’s a medical explanation of sorts about a threshold that your body considers normal, and I would like to make my body understand that 115 pounds is a much better threshold (110 pounds would be an AWESOME threshold), but then again, this is the same body that says 6am is the absolute perfect time to get up in the morning, so needless to say, my body and I aren’t friends much.

And I’m on the downslide of a pretty gacked out caffeine buzz. I had stopped drinking it last week, partly to see if I could (and I can), and partly because there’s a zit the size of a baked potato on my chin, and I suspected that caffeine had put it there. But the zit has stubbornly refused to shrink, despite my best efforts to medicate it down, and to stay away from the Diet Coke. So I took the opposite tact, and gulped down huge quantities of Diet Coke and Mountain Dew in the hopes of exploding it off my chin. Will most likely leave some kind of scar on its way out, but at this point, I don’t care. (feel free to concoct your own metaphors of If you can’t make it go away by being good, delve into the bad and explode it out, and deal with the scars later. )

And now here I am, exhausted physically and mentally. I’m about to curl up on my bed, on top of my notecards for my pitch that I had entertained hopes of finishing and now wave goodbye to as it merrily sails off to the Land of Missed Deadlines. My legs are twitchy. My nerves are shot. My eyes are swollen from too many tears. And I’ve had enough for tonight.

Will try to salvage things with a midweek post. Mucho apologies.