I have been in a tiny bit of an emotional slump lately. It started last Tuesday when I came down with some weird, communicable disease most possibly given to me as a lovely parting gift by one of my 2009-10 first graders. It involved wacky febrile temperatures that soared into the low "I feel like poop on a stick (not just poop, everyone...poop on a stick)" 100's, and then would dip shockingly into the "are you even alive??' mid-90's range. And my throat swelled, which would send most normal people running to their doctors for a strep test and some antibiotics, but not I. Because 4 out of 5 times these throat swellings of mine stump the doctors (literally, 5 times I've had this kind of throat swellage and only 1 time did a doctor emerge from the culture test room and announce the strep test was positive) (and that was the time I thought I had somehow managed to stuff a baby cow down my throat in my sleep and would spend the rest of my life receiving life sustenance via IV drip as a moral and natural consequence for that type of weird animal abuse).
So it started with the Annual Mystery Throat Illness, and then I was involved in a bit of a political scuffle (these always depress me because I'm just not into political debates, yo. But I think the right wingers spreading 21st century right wing notions are addicted to misguided, under-informed, supremely negative toxic talk, and I think the Universe would be so frown-y with me if I didn't at least call them on it whenever I see it and I see it...a LOT), and after all THAT I cleaned the downstairs of my house so deeply I think I may have bleached off a large handful of my nose hairs. This threw me into a fit of insomnia well past 2 AM during which I watched 2 entire back-to-back episodes of Bridezillas, for the love of holy matrimony and now I'm really sleepy.
In other words, my silly sass is off; my flirty funk is skewed.
And so I said, Amy? You know what you need? You need to make a list...no, no, no! Not those dorky lists you made on Sunday night, one for each day of the upcoming week, ambitiously outlining in great detail every single thing you intended to accomplish...none of which have had one single thing crossed off of any of them, I will pointedly note. I mean a list of the things you can do this summer that will shut up that Grumpy Dwarf living in your head. You, girlfriend, need to give yourself mental health projects this summer.
And so I will do the following:
- Visit more funky coffeehouses.
- Write more pointless blogs.
- Leave more bloggy-type comments in other people's blogs.
- Find other people's blogs to blog in (E and Val, rest assured I will be doing this on yours DAILY).
- Paint a room in my house.
- Paint a room in my house some type of electrically swank color (I bet little Miss M will dig electric swank purple).
- Swim more, brood less.
- Write crap short stories that make sense to no one but me. Random House and Simon & Schuster can weep after I'm published post-humously.
I think the last goal is a rather lofty one, and one that any publisher from Random House or Simon & Schuster would laugh their wordy butts off at, with much mirth.
Endnote: I predict I'll be more successful at visiting funky coffeehouses and blogging in other people's blogs than any other goal I've aggressively placed on this list.