My Down Time is Bringing Me Down

When I woke from my two-hour nap on Saturday, I engaged in a bit of self-psychoanalysis. The sheer fact that I reflect on the state of my mental and emotional health as often as I do, is probably a sign that I'm worse off than I think. Or I'm just completely self-absorbed. But that's beside the point. The important thing is that these self-examinations provide me with blog material.

Speaking of blog material, you may be thinking that the reason I don't write as often anymore is because I have less to say. Nah. It's this new job. It's cutting in to my writing time. When I get to the office I actually need to hunker down and get right to work. No easing into my day with a period of self-discovery. You might argue that I could write when I get home from work, but anyone who has a full-time job and kids at home who expect a meal and a ride to soccer practice, and a church or synagogue that needs you at weekly meetings, clothes that demand to be washed, and a body sorely in need of a workout recognizes that writing probably isn't high on my list of things to do in the evenings. No, when I have down time, I want it to mean something. That's why I play Words with Friends or 7 Little Words, or I watch the TV shows on my DVR, or try to get caught up on Scandal before the new season starts. If my head's in the right place I might actually read, but writing? Well that requires entirely too much thought.

For the most part I'm okay with the way I choose to spend my down time. Or I was until Rob pointed out that someday I'm going to die. He pointed this out after I woke from my nap. He suggested perhaps I sleep too much and noted that there will be plenty of time to sleep when I'm dead. Well, damn. When you look at life through that lens, spending my time playing word games or watching television seems pretty ridiculous. When I'm gone, what will I have contributed to this world? Will someone go back and read my WWF scores? Will my TV viewing habits warm the cockles of someone's heart? I think not.

My blog on the other hand, well this sucker is leaving its mark. It will live forever. I know this because I've tried to delete posts that I later regret, and it's true what they say about things in cyberspace never truly disappearing. This means my uber-honest, somewhat snarky, frequently funkapotomusized, periodically painful and gladly grace-filled random thoughts will live on in perpetuity. Woo hoo!

SIDE NOTE: There's something to be said for the old fashioned written journal. The one you could burn before your parents, sister, boyfriend, best friend, husband or children read it. Those were the good old days. I think I have about 13 of those embarrassing tell-alls hiding in the back of my closet. Does anyone have a match? Perhaps I should do my own Freakin' Angel version of Throwback Thursday. I'll share an old journal entry and we can laugh together over how I've grown and matured stayed pathetically the same since I was 13. I won't make it more painful by adding an old photo to go with it. Some things really should remain private.

Back to the issue of my poor use of time. As is the American way, I refuse to take responsibility for my choices in this regard. Al Gore, Bill Gates, Steve Jobs and that Zuckerberg kid are to blame. If they hadn't gone and created the computer, the internet, social media, e-books, on-demand video, etc., I would probably be a published author by now. And my son, whose technology addiction makes me look like a Luddite, well who knows what he would be doing with his life. He probably would have discovered some kind of new insect (he wanted to be an entomologist until he discovered the computer), written a comedy sketch for Saturday Night Live or made his mark in community theater. Yes indeed, we are being controlled by forces greater than ourselves. In fact, I think computer technology is the new Darwinism.

Think about it. Thousands of years ago "man" lived with the constant threat of being eaten alive by dinosaurs (I know this because I watched Land of the Lost). Natural selection meant that only the strong survived. Survival of the fittest, if you will. Today, we no longer are being chased by dinosaurs. Instead, we are chased by technology that wants to pin us down - mind, body and soul - and trap us in a  never-ending web (pun intended) of useless information. Those who are not strong enough to rage against the machine are destined for chunky thighs and a big butt, distorted thumbs and wrists, and a future spent in their parents' basement. Our "natural" selection has been replaced by man-made selection. Only those who break free from this technological tyranny have a chance to survive and live as the actual human beings we were created to be. I feel a doctoral dissertation coming on.

In conclusion, between the demands of my new job (how long can I consider it "new?"), my need for sleep and the distraction of technology, I'm lucky if I can write one blog post a week. I promise that once the kids leave home and I'm off these committees at church, and I've given up on trying to keep in shape, I'll resume my more prolific output. In the meantime, I'm sure you can find something to amuse you on the web or my DVR.

When Your Brain Goes MIA

Anyone who reads my blog even once in a while knows that I spend way too much time inside my own head. Always analyzing, considering, evaluating, thinking. What's much more unusual for me is losing my head, spacing out, forgetting to think, behaving blondish. Aside from those momentary brain farts/senior moments we all experience, I can only remember two distinct occasions when I lost my mind entirely for an extended period of time.

The first time I had this experience I had an excuse. It was a boy's fault. I was home from college and visiting NYC with my mom and sister. What should have been a lovely day, however, turned into a complete mental mess for me. As was frequently the case in those days, I had had a fight with my then-boyfriend that resulted in a late night filled with lots of tears and little rest. Often I could recover from these emotional smack-downs with extra sleep, but our trip to NYC required an early bus departure and I had little time to pull myself together. The results were memorable and somewhat hysterical (only in hindsight):

• On the bus I realized I had on two different shoes. One had a heel, the other was flat.
• Getting off the bus I discovered my pants were on backwards. Honest to God.
• In one of the department stores I tried in vain to use what I determined was a broken escalator. It wasn't broken, it was just going down while I was trying to go up.

The highlight of the trip? When I pointed out to my mom and sister a worn out, extremely haggard and unattractive young woman...and then realized to my utter dismay that I was looking in a mirror. Seriously.

That was my ultimate BMIA moment (Brain Missing In Action), but this week I had another doozy for which I had no fight-with-my-boyfriend (or even my husband) excuse.

It was Monday evening around 6:20. I was 10-minutes early for my Beginner's Italian class at our local high school. This was the fourth week of the 8-week course. I walked down the hall to my classroom and noticed a young lady whom I hadn't seen in our class before. I kept walking, thinking maybe I had the wrong room, but each one after it was dark with a closed door. I returned to the original classroom and sat down at a desk. The young lady asked me, "Is there a class in here tonight?" I replied, "Yes, at 6:30. It's odd that there's no one here yet, I rarely arrive before the professor or any of the other students." She explained that she was waiting for her teacher. I learned she was on the high school volleyball team. They're having a great year, playing a post season clincher this Thursday. I asked her if she knew my exchange student to-be (a later post, I'm sure) or one of the girls in my neighborhood. She knew them both and we chatted for quite some time. I thought she was very mature and outgoing. I said I would come see their game on Thursday evening. I suggested the school do a better job of promoting these things.

Her teacher entered the classroom and greeted me. I told him how much I liked his room décor and art. But then I noticed it was different. Much more artsy and nature-oriented whereas last week it had a more radical and political theme. I asked him if he had changed it all. In particular, I noted that I liked the quote he had had on the far right wall.  It had looked painted on, but I asked if perhaps it was one of those cling type images that you can peel and replace.

He suggested I might be thinking of his colleague's room. The one upstairs from us. On the third floor. Where my Beginner's Italian class was held.

"Oh, shit damn crap." 

Later that evening, after a class in which I understood absolutely nothing and was only physically present, I reflected on my second significant BMIA moment:

• How did I fail to note that no other student or the Italian professor had come into the room during the 10 minutes I sat there? 
• Why didn't the presence of a high school volleyball player waiting for her teacher tip me off that I wasn't in the right place?
• What made me think that the teacher must have changed every single picture or quote on his walls during the past week? 
• Did I really ask if he "took down" what is surely a quote painted on the wall?

I'm still stunned by my complete absence of any logical thought whatsoever.

Let's just hope this mental escapism subsides real soon. I won't make a very good impression at Villanova if I'm found on the first day of my employment, sitting in the wrong office of the wrong building, wearing my pajamas and speaking unintelligible Italian.