Yeah, I haven’t written in a while.

“OMG! Soooooo sorry! I’ve just been sooooo busy!”

“I’m, like, the WORST friend EVER! I hope you can forgive me. It’s great to see you!”

“I just need a minute to veg and then I’ll zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”

“OK, I really can’t let her stupidity soil the virgin-white purity and truth that is Facebook, so I’ll just reply to this one comment on the thread and be done.”

“Shit, that was a 2-hour Facebook post. How does this HAPPEN?!?”

And now it’s July. Much has “happened” as it were.

Oh, wait, see there it is. Right there. No, RIGHT THERE!

Yes, over here. Well, actually, right next to the word “were.” It’s that point- right there that is the problem. There was a pause. A momentary lapse, or rather, RE-lapse into my habitual rabbit hole vortex waste of time. It goes something like this:

Aaaaand I’m coming to the end of this sentence, this idea…and I’m done. Huh. My fingers aren’t moving on the keyboard. The tapping sound really is quite relaxing and comforting, reassuring me that there are thoughts (even interesting ones) bouncing around my skull.  So it’s a little unnerving that they’re not mooooving. What next? Oh no. It’s quiet. Too quiet. Like the radio: dead air. Someone SAY SOMETHING!

MAYBE I SHOULD CHECK FACEBOOK!!! Yes, absolutely. Visiting The Book of Face will creatively inspire me in the same way that oh, say, the sun breaking over the eastern horizon, spills light and life over the sleeping landscape. Something like THAT, oh Facebook you creative font! I know there exists a growing, but not a consensus, body of scholarly work that debates (here, here, and here, for example) what many already know in our collective guts, at our most basic level about Facebook— that it is, as Homer Simpson might say, “the cause of and solution to all of life’s problems.” Without all of the extra baggage that the “solution” part might afford, at least in my own personal experience which is, admittedly, a focus group of 1.

But this is not a post about the scourge and evil that is Facebook. No! That’s low hanging fruit in the quest to answer the eternal question: “What is the cause of my particular and peculiar brand of bullshit emotional baggage?” Tonight, I don’t have a whole lot to say on the subject, to be honest. In fact, I should check my EMAIL!!

Yes, email. I should do this. Checking the email….surely, there’s something brewing in one of my FIVE email addresses comprised of two work addresses, my Professional/ Personal account, my Personal/ Personal account by which my friends and colleagues from a certain era in my life know me, and my Personal/ Coupon/ Address I Give to Nigerian Royalty email.  I’m headed for a world of hurt here. I’m seeking out more stressors, and this behavior must have a clinical name that I do not yet know (but since I am a bit of a hypochondriac I will probably Google that shortly- BTW, what IS Kate Middleton doing nowadays?), and OH MY LORD WHERE IS MY BED BATH AND BEYOND 20% EMAIL COUPON!?! Can I at least depend on its mundane regularity in my….oh look! Another installment of the Slow Cooker Chronicle. Yes, I would like 10 “Summertime and the Slow Cookin’ is Easy” 5- ingredient recipes with BACON, you say? Damn, that looks good, and I’m all hungry now, but this is not very productive, so I’m going to go over to check my work email.

Yes, it might be 11:00  (oh shit- already?) at night, but I really can’t think of a better time to open my email and find some festering, overdue, rotting turd of a request for me to wax myself into an anxious lather over. In all honesty, it’s not the nature of the request itself (all the time) that feels fecal. Rather, it’s the length of time I’ve allowed it to stay on my to-do list.

A LIST! That’s what I should do! This will be the first step on my path leading me clearly and steadfastly in the opposite direction of those poor poor people who end up on Hoarders. Because you know, all they need to bring them into a more balanced state of mental health is a lined pad of paper, a good solid #2 pencil (sharp for decisiveness and with an eraser- because we all make mistakes!), and some plastic bins (clear and snapping handles preferable).  I will make this list and then place it atop my mounting oeuvre of lists I have created and nursed into a hearty stack. And my list will start with all of the, as Rick Grimes would say, “stuff and things” I will harvest first from these emails, then merge alongside the Greatest Hits from the other languishing lists.  But unlike me, Rick’s “stuff and things” are zombies and sulky dead wives. He has earned the right to wander around the post-apocalyptic woods all sweaty and confused, which is very different from my real world situation, in which I am similarly sweaty and confused, but where I am faced with “stuff and things”  I have been too busy/ disorganized/ scared to do for fear of failure.

Well, then. There it is.  The fear of failure. Or the fear. And the failure.

  1. My unfinished masters degree (I really would like to finish this, but I never seem to “make time.”)
  2. My changing, aging body and the fact that I can’t work out right now (More on this later and also- hey, I’m thankful I’ve made it this far, but I’d like to keep my physical and strength with me.)
  3. Our house search (Is this the right house for us? What disaster are we stepping foot into?)
  4. Laundry. (Because it never ends.)
  5. Potentially new job (WTF am I getting myself into?)
  6. Do I really only think about myself? Am I really self-centered? (My parents would tell you I am.)
  7. The garage is full of photo and “crafty” projects I want to organize. I want to do this before the chronologies slip from my mind.
  8. How badly am I damaging my kids? I try every day to be a good mom, a fun mom, a consistent mom, a teaching mom. But by the end of the day, I’m not always my best.
  9. My writing: Will I ever have a chance to write consistently, and not in my car, my right hand fumbling around for a pencil to write an idea on a sticky, crumbled McDonald’s coffee receipt?
  10. My husband and kids- Am I making enough time for them? For us? To make those “core memories” (Yes, I saw Inside Out, what of it?)
  11. Am I living my life to the fullest? Am I enjoying it? Am I spending time with people in my life? Because the fact that I have had a number of people get critically ill with cancer and have lost two of them in the span of six months has made me a little introspective.

I just made another list. And it’s 11 PM.  Oh shit.  Already.