Self Analysis

This feeling has been nagging me for a while...

I'm uninspired.

No. That's not really it.

I'm lazy.

Sometimes. Out of necessity.

I'm bored.

Not likely.

I'm in a funk.

Possible...

I'm depressed.

Yes. That's got to be it.

But...

Not really.

I've been depressed. Really depressed.

This isn't like that.

Anxiety. It's anxiety.

I had that panic attack. Right?

Hormones.

When in doubt...blame the hormones.

But, no. Not it either.

OK.

Trying to figure out what's wrong with me is making me anxious and depressed. It's putting me in a funk. It zaps all my creativity and sucks the inspiration away.

Then it hit me.

I'm tired.

Really tired.

Physical, mental, emotional.

The whole shebang.
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Life has been a lot more demanding this year.

Not necessarily in a bad way either.

My posse at school is a handful. There is no time in which I can fly on automatic pilot. I teach my ass off each and every minute.

These kids *need* me. And I love the challenge.

That myth about it getting easier as your children get older is just that: a big, fat myth.

There are times when I long for the diaper days. It was much simpler then.

I'm still working on the whole nose twitch thing a la Samantha, but have yet to perfect it.

Until then, my laundry needs folding. My dishes need washing. My floors need sweeping.

Sprinkle in traffic, dinner prep, a geriatric dog, and two naughty kitties...and the fat lady begins to sing.
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I feel like this place has become stale.

Wit and cleverness have left the building.

Sometimes it feels more like a chore: the picture taking, editing, uploading, writing, linking.

My Google Reader taunts me.

I want to comment and give you a tip of the hat.

But there are nights when all I want to do is sit around in my underwear watching mindless television, drinking Lone Star from a can.

Enter guilt.

Especially when I receive such lovely props from all of you.

I've started to avoid posting just to escape the ensuing guilt.

I've thought of pulling the plug. Sneaking away in the dark of night.

But I know I'd regret that decision.

Do any of you feel this way?

Does the whole blogging-reading-commenting cycle get overwhelming for you?

Am I just being a wuss?

Is this the most asinine problem to be plagued with?

I'm not sure how to resolve this quandary.

It's all so 2011.
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Epilogue:

I'm not going to leave my throng of readers hanging.

I'll post when wit and cleverness rear their heads. And sometimes when they don't.

I'll check in as often as I can. But I'm not going to give myself an ulcer over the whole thing.

I say that all blasé, but know this:

I will still be racked with guilt as I sit on my couch in my undies drinking cheap Texas beer, watching people on television that are crazier than I am.

Cheers.