It’s really amazing what a good, solid dose of hermit time can do. With the exception of a walk here and an errand there, I’ve been out of my house exactly once since Christmas Eve. I’ve spent most of my time reading, watching the Comedy Central SNL marathon, listening to whatever’s in the CD player and just thinking things over. Also napping.
No epiphanies or breakthroughs or anything dramatic like that, but then that’s not what I needed. I’d been feeling so fantastically rocky lately, blaming it on this or that, but now that I’ve had some time to navel-gaze, it all looks pretty simple: I spent a lot of time on my own last year. I haven’t given myself much since I’ve been back. I had a lot of plans that I’ve had to adjust and/or cancel. I haven’t processed any of it, really. Between worrying about work and worrying about moving and worrying about not moving and, well, just worrying about pretty much everything… let’s just say it’s easy to lose track of what’s important. The good news is, I’m starting to come back around.
To sum up: I’ve seen ads for some scary shit – I only wish I’d caught the whole of that blue-screen spot for nationwide donut-of-the-month-club or somesuch horror (I would like to point out that, with the exception of Comedy Central’s own Holiday spots, what I said a few days ago about advertising emphatically does not apply to what’s airing on cable); I’ve been alarmed by the sight of Angus Young in short pants at age 104 or however old he is now; I’ve successfully solved a murder mystery before getting to the end of the book; I’ve written several thousand words and processed a few hundred photographs. I’ve decided I need to open a store called Disco Pants ‘n’ Haircuts*, but I’m not sure what I’d sell (ideas welcome, bien sur).
So, yeah. I’m feeling much better, thanks. Now, who’s coming to see Big Fish with me? It’s showing right across the street from La Creperie…