I Should be Writing That ... So I'll Write This Instead

I've been doing a lot of two-a-days lately.  As in, two interviews in one day.  It may sound simple, but I find that I'm constantly having to remind myself where I am, who I'm with, what I'm supposed to be focusing on ... It's a little confusing and somewhat exhausting.

What's more confusing and exhausting is then sorting through all these interviews and actually making articles out of them.  There is something about knowing that I HAVE to write something that causes my brain to ... travel.  And where it travels, Dear Readers, is often straight to Crazy Town.

Take yesterday, for example.  I was just having a quick lunch before starting an article.  There I am, slapping together a PBJ sandwich, when it came to me: What if I added Fruit Loops to my PBJ?  To clarify, I don't like Fruit Loops.  Sugary cereals gross me out.  But I have a box of Fruit Loops from some cupcake madness I created awhile back and I've inexplicably been partaking in the sugary little O's over the last few weeks.  So yesterday, the thought of adding a handful in between my layers of peanut butter and bread seemed downright genius.  Constructing this culinary delight became my sole focus.  Article be damned, I've got a PBJFL to make.  

Today, it was the fridge.  I felt this would be the perfect day to sort through everything -- empty old containers, nix the rotting vegetables we never used, wipe down whatever liquid that is that's smeared on the bottom shelf, take everything out of those annoying plastic bags so we can actually see the refrigerator's contents: I did it all.  It took forever.  Forever, mind you, that could have been spent writing articles.

Last night, it was a long bath.  This morning, it was laundry. Sometimes it's phone calls or emails.  Other times it's a run outside or a trip to the store for my Diet Coke fix.  Reruns of The Office, whipping up a batch of guacamole, planning my escape to Hawaii, vacuuming the living room rug for the seventeenth time today: All of these things call to me.  Their presence in my mind becomes crucial -- so crucial, making room for them by shoving articles out of the way is perfectly justified.

I made a list of what people really mean when they say things.  (Example: "I'll call you" means "I'm not going to call you."  "I'll call you tonight," "I'll call you this weekend, and "I'll call you back in two minutes" also mean "I'm not going to call you").  I made a list of things to do when my niece and nephew visit me this summer. (Classic recent moment: While over at my parents' house, my mom told me she'd saved a special section in the paper that had a list of cheap activities to do with kids this summer.  "Um, yeah, I wrote that," I told her.  "You DID?!")  I made a list of all the articles I need to write and wish I had the will to write, but have not written on account of the fact that I've been making lists and sandwiches out of breakfast cereals.

I tried to create the perfect sauce.  I did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself.  The ingredients were peanut butter, soy sauce, barbecue sauce, lemon juice, Ranch dressing and green salsa. I didn't have any food to put sauce on.  It was all for naught.  

I live like a bachelor.  I drink orange juice straight from the container (What, nobody else is going to drink it!).  I snack by the handful and spoonful.  

Sometimes I get a caffeine drip going.  Whether it's coffee or tea, Diet Coke or liquid cocaine (I kid), I make sure to get a steady stream jetting through my system.  This sometimes takes a surprising amount of time and effort.  Time and effort that could be spent on ... well, you get the idea.

I read other blogs.  I have three favorites and I really can't make it through a day without them.  I long for their authors to join me for dinner and impart their hilarity and wisdom.  I envision the conversations that would take place, down to the outfits everyone will be wearing and the style of laughter everyone will have (both dainty and gruff laughs are cause for more laughter).  

I replay moments in my head, try to figure out things I've done right and things I've messed up.

I bask in the glow of the glorious Portland sunshine.

I walk past parks and wish I had my niece and nephew with me.  There's something decidedly creepy -- yet oh so tempting -- about going to a park as a single, childless civilian.  I think about starting a service where tired parents loan out their kids for an afternoon.  Just enough to give me my kid fix, give them a break.  It seems like such a win/ win.

I try to trace that noise in the kitchen.  Is it the ice machine?  Is it IN the fridge?  It's not the heater or AC, it's not the dishwasher ... WHAT IS IT?!?!

I email my friends with subject lines like, "Are you freaking kidding me?!?!?!?!" and recount the stories I'm often too wussy to recount on this blog.  This starts a chain of, "Um, I know!"  And, "Right?!?!"  and, "That's exactly what I thought -- what the hell?!?!"  And finally, "Well, whatever.  That's so lame.  I love you, Dude, so whatever."

And then I think about my next meal.  Perhaps a nice PBJFL.  They're good for all occasions.

Wait a minute, was there something I was supposed to be doing?  Oh, that's right, articles ... lots and lots of articles ...