“Wish I was a Kellogg’s Corn Flake, Floatin’ in my bowl takin’ movies. . . Wish I was an English muffin, ‘Bout to make the most out of a toaster . . .”
Wait. That’s Punky’s Dilemma. That ain’t right.
So what is my dilemma, lovelies? Well, it’s all of you.
No. That’s not true either. And it isn’t even late 60s-child-of-hippies confusion, either. It’s blatantly false, it’s a passing of the buck.
Because, in truth, I am my dilemma.
I spent 12 solid hours this weekend reading blogs, commenting, etc., etc. Seriously. I know this because I woke up at 2:30 in the morning and by the time I finally quit, it was mid-afternoon.
I could, of course, have stopped myself at any time. But I didn’t. Because I have become emotionally entangled in your lives, and I want to be able to be present for everyone (even often silently) while still being present for myself (which sounds pretentious as fuck in the re-reading, but I promise I don’t mean it to be so). One would think that would be impossible even as far as the time commitment goes. Maybe it is, but I’m somehow making that work right now. Usually.
I’m even balancing the emotional some. Enough. For the moment.
I spent yesterday “out and about”, as they say. I had a doctor’s appointment, treated myself to some strawberry margaritas for lunch. . . Wait. I mean with lunch. I sipped and kept company with Thomas Hardy and Egdon Heath, then went and had my hair done. After which I got myself a chai tea (and had a fun flirt along with it, I don’t know that I’ve ever mentioned it, but I am an incorrigible flirt – in the best sense of the word, of course!), then went home and had an afternoon snack of aspirin and lots of water, remembering why I don’t drink lots of tequila at 11 o’clock a.m., and marveling on the phone to my very good friend (Hi!) at how I got through my early 20s pretty much sans hangover. There’s a legitimate methodology to why, but I digress (like that’s ever stopped me before).
After my phone conversation I popped in a movie (Rita Hayworth as Gilda), followed it by soaking in the tub, whiled away the time with some music, and eventually fell asleep.
What is my dilemma again?
Well. . . Shit.
Oh, well. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
Moral of the story: Don’t forget the plot of the damned thing!
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