LAAAME!

I could mention that a couple of days ago, Hubster and I started dancing (in our awkward, white way) around the basement to a Citizen Cope song and the cat started flipping out. Then I decided to do an interpretive ribbon dance with her string toy and she started chasing it and we laughed a lot. I could mention that I spent 90% of yesterday on the phone with my coworker figuring out the schedule for conferences this year and learning that I will probably be gone every weekend in late April through June. I could tell you that we hit up a friend's house for dinner last night and he made fantastic beef roast with potatoes which had to be tossed in a pan with butter. A bit splattered the skin near his eye and he spent the rest of the night making jokes about serving "hot-buttered eyeball," and Hubster ended up uttering the words "endive metatarsal" and we all laughed while he iced his eye and tried to eat, single-handed and one-eyed. But none of these things are an entire entry. They're barely an entire thought.

I think you can all identify with that specific feeling of "trying to be bigger than the situation." You really want to be a baby about it, you're about to start with the tantrums and the pity parties, but you stop yourself and say, "I will overcome because I am better than my immediate, immature reaction." Unfortunately, this is directly opposed to the blogger's mindset of ranting and raving about every little annoyance to comedic effect. I wish I could say that I can do that and remain aloof and use it to vent without actually carrying around the feeling of entitlement pasted all over my words, but I can't do that. I know when I'm sinking into it, and I'm sinking, yo. So I have to step out of the situation, not post a rant, and then . . . I'm stuck. Should I spend an entire entry raving about how tiny, juicy, and delicious key limes are, and how every Gin & Tonic made hereafter shall bear a slice of their magnificent bitterness by my royal decree? Sounds a little shallow, no? Also, BORING!

Don't worry, though. I'm still doing well. In fact, I'm doing better than I was a week or two ago. I'm still stressed about my work project, inundated with tiny errands to run, overwrought over the new cat we're going to get sometime but not soon enough, and generally obsessive about everything, but I'm happier. I may still have a lot on my plate, but I'm more certain I'll get it done. And I may still talk to my husband about the same things, but I feel like we're getting somewhere instead of being in totally different places, whining to ourselves. And I still FREAKIN WANT ANOTHER CAT, but we're getting there, and I realize that no amount of time spent wishing will make it any closer than actual time spent driving out there and writing out a check.

I just have to keep reminding myself that I can't jump to the end, I have to live through all these things. I have this absurd wish almost daily to just get to the end and know the outcome. I like the closer of history. To my eternal shame, I (who was an avid booklover) would skip to the end of the book to find out how it turned out if I felt a too worried about the events I was then reading. But I can't do that with my current realities. The only guy who has the key is God, and he's not talking. So I have to live through this, and no amount of GRRRRRRRRRRing on this website will do anything for it. Except perhaps passing the time writing this. So I guess I'm warning you: it's going to be LAME.