Gaaaaaaahhhhh

Gah. If I count the number of entries that I've posted in the past few Februaries (is that a word even? Februarys?), I find that it's always around this time of year that I lose the thread.

I'm still here, still doing stuff, but I sit down to write and The Brain is all, gaaaaahhhhh, like one of those sighs that you give when you see that the sink is, yet again, full of dirty dishes. And the hamper is full of dirty clothes. And your hair color suddenly seems so dull. And books don't hold your attention. And there is nothing interesting or worth reading on the internet. And how are those New Year's resolutions coming along by the way? Yeah? Still working on those, right?

So that's it. I'm still here. I went to the gym four times last week and still I missed my goal of 200 minutes of cardio. I lost two pounds. I started my period yesterday and instead of wanting to eat all the sugar--all of it--I just want to crawl under my mattress and stay there until spring. I took Crunch for walks and I tutored my niece in chemistry. And when did the sink get all piled up with dishes again? How is it that we go through so many pairs of socks in a week? I'm not going to dye my hair. I'm not going to dye my hair. I'm not going to dye my hair. How many times am I going to have to start this damn book before I just force myself through it so that I can return it to my niece? I'm sick of reading about the woes of the now merely super rich (as opposed to the ultra rich) in The New York Times Online. Did I tell you I lost two pounds last week? Yeah, well, don't get too impressed; Those are still the Obama Ten that I'm working on. Those aren't even the New Year's resolution pounds.

Gaaaaahhhhh.

And how's this for a fucking reality check: I'm going tomorrow to sit with my friend Ellen while her partner goes to work for a couple of hours. Ellen is not doing well. She just got out of the hospital after having her ass kicked by yet another round of chemotherapy. She's losing ground. Fast.

It's hard to say pobre mia when I compare my life to Ellen's at the moment.

The Brain wants me to tell you that it is not responsible for the contents of this entry.