I'm extending my self-imposed exile a few more days.
I'll be sitting on my couch.
Drinking cheap Texas beer.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Sunday, April 17, 2011
This feeling has been nagging me for a while...
No. That's not really it.
Sometimes. Out of necessity.
I'm in a funk.
Yes. That's got to be it.
I've been depressed. Really depressed.
This isn't like that.
Anxiety. It's anxiety.
I had that panic attack. Right?
When in doubt...blame the hormones.
But, no. Not it either.
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.
Physical, mental, emotional.
The whole shebang.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Ten pictures taken over ten hours.
I can wear my contacts again.
Just. Shut. The. Door.
She's been leaving him at home sometimes.
This kills me more than it should.
Rip it up.
An element of dinner.
Color from above.
Not just for boys.
My hot skater.
And a proud daddy.
A day spent outside.
In the sun.
A day of fun.
Listen up, spring.
You should know, I love you more and more each year.
I hope your ten was just as sunny.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
In a perfect world, I would bake our bread each week.
But, this is not a perfect world.
I enjoy the act of baking bread.
Measuring. Mixing. Kneading. Waiting.
And the aroma...
The reality: We don't eat a whole lot of bread.
No way! Really?
Yes. It be true.
Sandwiches are a once in a while thing.
The Offspring aren't little toast heads or pb&j fiends.
I tap into all the will power my soul possesses and steer clear. But only because I care about the size of my ass.
The Mr. is some sort of no-bread cyborg. I've never seen a person eat half a slice at dinner.
My family is a big bunch of weirdos.
The whole lot of them.
This makes a simply delicious loaf. I swapped the wheat germ for flax meal with excellent results.
I could easily eat half a loaf all by my lonesome.
I've also made the cinnamon-sugar loaf.
I won't admit to eating half a loaf all by my lonesome.
I'll only say that it was shortly thereafter that I put the brakes on bread baking.
Such is the life in a house of weirdos.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
I've been keeping a frantic pace.
It has been intense.
I've cooked some dinner.
One night we had refried black bean burritos.
With copious amounts of avocado.
One night we had take-out.
With copious amounts of fortune cookies.
I've read a bit here and there.
Camera settings, egg replacements, NBA stats.
They all represent.
I wrote some lesson plans.
The letter j is captivating.
The kitties are barely keeping up with all this action.
Maybe they are tuckered from continuing to eat all my plants.
So far, these have remained unscathed. I fear that they too have a death sentence.
I'm about as caught up on laundry as I will ever get.
That means I only have one basket, folded, and waiting for me to put it away.
One load is sitting in the dryer right now.
And there is a full basket of whites that need attention.
This is improvement people! Do I get a whoop-whoop?
I've endured a Spurs loss.
Are you effing kidding me?
It has been brutal. Sickening. Stick-a-dagger-in-my-heart horrible.
This means I've been having multiple beers.
My moods are known to change on a dime during football and basketball season.
I have been *most* unpleasant throughout this skid.
The hurried pace has broken our stinky, obese, partially blind, slightly deaf, and mostly senile dog. She lays at my feet, farting and snoring while deep in sleep.
You're tired just reading this, huh? I warned you.
Does your rock and roll living compare with mine?
Make like a canary and sing.
I'll check-in and catch-up with all of you tomorrow. Because right now, I've got more large livin' to do.