January 17 seems like just yesterday . . . if you live in a time warp. Who am I kidding. I don’t really know how time warps are supposed to work. And apparently, I seem to have forgotten how blogs are supposed to work. Something to do with writing regularly.
My last post was dated Jan. 17. But I’ve somehow managed to attract a few new subscribers since that date, and that makes me sad for those people who suffer the delusion that I am a regular blogger. Maybe they found this space by Googling “Winnie the Pooh” or “I Hate Texting” or some other hot topic. In any case, they somehow encouraged me to post again. Motivation works in weird ways, and I suppose this is one of them.
It seems I have some catching up to do. I will summarize the past five months with a few bullet points, a really cheapo way to summarize anything:
* I was nearly killed by a foodborne illness, courtesy of a steelhead trout in Boston in March. For legal reasons, I cannot expound on this experience, but know that it was bad. I can’t apologize enough to the guests in Room 364, just on the other side of our hotel room wall.
* My Louisiana native neighbor convinced me that watching “Swamp People” would be a good use of my time. I am now so addicted that I call her my co-dependent. Because of this show, I don’t answer the phone at night. When “Swamp People” isn’t airing on the History Channel, Netflix saves the day. How many times can I watch Troy pull an alligator into his boat, you ask? You tell me. I can’t count that high. Troy is a superhero. And like all those wonderful things that make a superhero a superhero, Troy knows how to dress the part. The man never changes his shirt.
* Less than one year ago, I returned to school to finish what I thought I had started. Unfortunately, the years took their toll on my graduate credits, and the hours had spoiled. They molded. They went bad. So it was back to Square One. I was told, “Whoa. You’re not finishing. You’re starting over.” And that’s OK. That just meant more fun in the classroom and a little more time to write this thesis. I will graduate in May and begin my second career because print journalism seems to be going the way of the dodo bird, and I am one cranky old-schooler who is forever loyal to print and doesn’t have a heap of interest in digital media. (See photo above.) This part of my life has consumed much of the past five months.
There’s more, but it teeters on being on the boastful side — serving as a chaperone on a middle school choir trip, cutting my own bangs, vacationing in Biloxi, Miss., mastering an electric sander, and negotiating the local Publix only an hour after having Dilaudid administered intravenously in the ER. (Apologies to everyone whose path took them past my prone body lying in the beach chair borrowed from the Pepsi display. I was not in this world.)
And about that lady in the header picture above: No, this is not me. I’ve never looked that happy while talking on a car phone. Imagine how she would look with bangs…