A.A. Milne’s New Poster Child

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My fingers hover over the keyboard whilst I desperately try to think of something worth writing about. I want to try and write something, anything, every day. I wish it could be something funny. I used to be funny. Really. I was. I was a freaking laugh riot. I had friends who tried to encourage me to give stand-up a try. Or head to NYC and try to write for Saturday Night Live. But mine was situational humor – you really had to be there to truly appreciate the laughter of the moment. My wit was quick. One of the blessings of the Irish. My audiences were my friends and family. There was always laughter. Lots and lots of laughter.

I didn’t dwell on the quiet of my home or the solitude of my life. Nights were not spent balanced on a “sitNcycle” peddling away while watching TV shows saved by the DVR – or staring at the screen of a laptop balanced precariously on my knees. I was out there… in the world …. being with other people … loving… laughing…living.

But not now. Now I sit alone and ponder what comes next — wishing I could break this cycle of sadness. I make mental lists of what might help. Yoga is always on that list. I don’t know why but it always sounds like something that would be a real mood enhancer. Of course, I tried yoga in college and was absolutely horrible at it. And I seriously doubt that middle age has done anything to enhance my yoga potential. Kittens are on the list. I bet kittens would make me feel better. But then there are the litter boxes and the scratched up furniture and the hair balls. Ever want a cat? Those two words alone (hair balls) should make you think seriously of the consequences.

I tried cooking classes. That worked for a while but I grew tired of cooking for myself. I did feel much better when I was swimming but my swim partner was injured and we haven’t been in the pool in months. I do like to travel but that Lotto win hasn’t come through yet so that work gig has to happen – which throws a real monkey wrench in the ability to take many long vacations.

OH DEAR JESUS — I HAVE TURNED INTO EEYORE!!!! Damn.

eeyore2

 

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