8-Jan-2007

I fear this blog has become a boring tribute to my everyday life.  I hate that.  I don't want to regale you with tales of where I ate, what I did, who I didn't do, who I'm liking more than others on any given week.  The mundane is fun for me, but maybe not so much for you nameless, faceless hooligans.  I get a kick out of reading what someone I don't know ate for breakfast, or why they seem to suffer one dating fiasco after another (although, that being said, I haven't been writing much about dating because I haven't been doing much of it.  By choice?  Perhaps.  A more likely explanation is that I am lazy and have made a resolution to spend as much of my adult life in sweatpants as possible.  Sweatpants and dating mix about as well as Russians and Finns, but if there's a guy out there who thinks the aforementioned apparel is attractive on me, I'm in the book.  Wait.  No, I'm not.).  Point is, maybe we don't find the same things amusing.  So I'm not going to tell you what I did this weekend.  I mean, after all, don't I do the same things every weekend, and see the same people?  Don't get me wrong.  I'm not complaining.  I am pleased as punch with my friend situation right now, and I feel extremely loved and supported, with the freedom to branch out and have some faux Hollywood acquaintanceships as well.  What I don't feel is the compunction to share with you another tale of how the Honeybee threatened to call my mother and tell her I have an eating disorder, or how Cliffhanger enabled my claustrophobia twice by riding an elevator with me.

I'm at a point in my life where I don't feel particularly sad or particularly happy, and that, to me, is the kiss of death.  I think it's the nature of OCD, to shake things up a little.  Things never get boring, because you've probably set your house on fire or forgotten that you ran over a hobo.  Regardless, you've killed your cat or are going to jail.  If you're worried about fake things, you never have to confront what might really be bothering you.  I am a worst case scenario person.  I can magnify things in my brain until the tiniest thing becomes life or death.  I think it's a good trait to have as a writer, a bad trait as a person seeking happiness and fulfilling relationships.  I know my friends get tired of me calling them and asking them the same questions over and over... "What do you think will happen to me if I did this, or didn't do that?"  I tend to get very frustrated with the way I treat my friends (and especially my mom) when I'm going through a bad spell.  But lately, I haven't been too bad, that I can see.  So does this mean I need to go out and seek new drama in my life to make up for the lack of OCD?  Clearly, I should hook up with an ex-boyfriend or flirt dangerously with Oscar Nom or do something else hazardous to my health to avoid this damn contentment.  Suggestions welcome.