It has come to my attention that I experience something akin to psychosis if I do not write on a regular basis. This is the same sort of reaction I have when I don’t go to the gym, and let me tell you, it’s not pretty. And I mean truly not pretty, like in Celebrities Without Makeup not pretty, the kind that has you gasping and calling over your shoulder to your mom, your cat, your boyfriend, or some random person seated on your sofa, “Hey, come look at this!” with more than just a soupçon of schadenfreude (pause to appreciate my use of fun foreign words and to Google them if you are not in the know). I brought this to my own attention after doing some rather grueling soul-searching while pedalling furiously on a stationary bike at the aforementioned gym.
“Why do I feel like slitting my wrists with a Sharpie?” I asked myself, increasing the resistance so that my legs felt as though they were slogging through cement under water. “Why do I feel like pummeling myself in the face with a Snuffleupagus? Why is Diet Coke no longer making me happy?”
And then I realized: I haven’t been “blogging” on a regular basis for quite some time. I haven’t poured out my heart, my soul, my pancreas, the contents of my refrigerator for way too long. I haven’t delighted you with tales of my trips to the bank where I had to stand in line longer than a Russian waiting for a hunk of moldy bread or Midwestern tourists hoping to get inside ABC Studios to see The View, reports of personal hygiene performed on public transportation, or a story about a bright-eyed child dropping his ice cream cone on the sidewalk and me dashing over to scoop it up so I could enjoy it myself without violating the “three-second rule”.
So, because I kinda like feeling happy, because I kinda dig not feeling like something’s missing from my life, because I still want to entertain those of you who still come by in the hopes of finding some delicious new nugget from me (okay, that sounds disgusting, but you know you love it) … I’m back! Enough with the masochism. (And, really, sadism, too.) (I’m all about the combo-pack, the one-stop-shopping, the multi-tasking.)
Me: Doctor, it only hurts when I go like this.
Me (in doctor outfit, complete with old-fashioned head reflector/lamp): Then don’t go like that.
Ahhh. Just what the doctor ordered.