I hate being sick. Being sick precludes me from achieving my goals. As evidence, allow me to contrast my goals for last night with what actually happened.
Goals for the evening of February 6th
1. Eat nutritious dinner and engage in witty repartee with Little M and the husband and prove to them that I can be mother-of-the-year/domestic goddess after working an 11 hour day.
2. Put in a 100% effort in the P90X2 workout of the day and become better/faster/stronger.
3. Write a blisteringly funny and charming blog entry.
4. Restore the lower level of my house to "company's coming" pristineness.
What actually happened on the evening of February 6th
1. Ate a soup bowl full of guacamole and about 14 servings of chips while Little M was collapsed on the sofa and the husband microwaved his dinner. (Note about the guacamole: The husband just might make the best guacamole on earth. It's insane. I'm sure he would have been most appreciative if I didn't hoover it in a manner more commonly observed by pigs near troughs. I may have been a called a glutton more than once. My only response is that gluttony is--by far--my favorite of the seven deadlies.)
2. Changed into workout clothes, walked into the basement, popped workout DVD into the computer, and did about 12 seconds of actual exercise.
3. Announced that I was going to close my eyes for a few minutes. Left basement, but not before retrieving and eating a peanut butter cup from the emergency candy stash.
4. Fell asleep (face down and ass-up) on top of covers at 8:30 PM, still in workout clothes, and didn't move so much as an eyelash before 6 AM.
5. Slept peacefully while dirty dishes remained piled, and unwashed, in the sink.
Item #5 is major. This absolutely has to be some marker of insanity, but I am unable to sleep with dirty dishes in the sink. I twitch. I toss and turn. I am physically unable to relax until the dishes are cleaned, dried, and put away in their rightful place. I'm serious when I say that I twitch. It is as if I fear being attacked and mutilated by disgruntled dishes while I sleep. Mock as you will, but there is no known cure for this mental ailment. This is a sad, sad thing.
So, sleep might just be the only remedy I have at my disposal against the sinus infection from hell. I will note that sleep did provide me with a mental vacation that I very much needed. Sometimes, this "public diary" thing messes with my head a bit.
I can explain.
I think that there are two critical elements to writing a piece that's worth reading- there's the storytelling piece, and there's the quality of writing piece. Once I started writing again, I pretty quickly realized that I should probably read other blogs to benchmark my progress against other writers/hacks out there and calibrate my future efforts accordingly. Leave it to me to use some of the best blogs out there as reference points.
Let's just say that I became more than a little discouraged.
There's one blog in particular that is just, well, outstanding. The author is a brilliant writer, and an amazing storyteller. The writing is sharp, and crisp, and she uses words with such efficiency and effectiveness that I'm blown away. The stories she tells are heartwarming, and funny---and more importantly, about battles and triumphs over some very significant demons. She inspires people with her openness to expose pain, and anguish, and redemption.
In contrast, the best story I can offer is that this weekend, I logged in a bunch of hours playing a game with Little M called "Ring Around the Nosy." It involves wearing an elephant mask, complete with phallic-looking rubber trunk. The goal of the game is to collect as many rings on the trunk (which TOTALLY looks like a penis, by the way) without using your hands. Yes, boys and girls, I played ring around the penis with my 3 year old this weekend. Are you inspired yet?
In all seriousness, I'm less concerned about improving my technical elements of my writing. Technical, I can handle. I can practice. I can actually edit my work. The technical elements will come back to me. It's the storytelling part that is troublesome to me. Here's why. Thus far, I've had a great, and uncomplicated life. I have my moments, and sometimes I get sad and sometimes I get angry, but generally, I am demon-free. I'm as even-keeled as they come. Don't get me wrong-- I wouldn't trade my good fortune for anything (and trust me, I know I am ridiculously fortunate and I am eternally grateful). I have to believe that the people who have the stories that are most worth telling have suffered. The suffering provides insight. The suffering provides perspective. The suffering can be channeled to improve the lives of other people at the time that it's most needed. I can't offer that to anyone. Maybe my stories just aren't worth being told.
C'mon. I'm not going to say I'd rather be anguished and write a beautiful blog that inspires. That's just silly talk. I just hope that I'm not just filling dead air with meaningless words because my soul isn't evolved enough to do better.
Oh well, at least I can be known as the girl who actually wrote the words "ring around the penis" in a blog. That HAS to be worth something.
The remedy is the experience,
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