Three Excuses and a Heat-Induced Stupor

A couple days ago someone came up to me and said, "Why don't you update your blog more often? It's lame that you post about as often as I get my car insurance bill." Maybe I would have felt more lame at that moment if I hadn't been dwelling on how much a blog and a parole officer have in common.

Since I've certainly had times when I fume in frustration that (insert website here) hasn't posted anything new, I'll now state my excuses for being scarce.

Firstly, it's football season -and as I am an aspiring Texan this requires much time, dedication and honing my telepathic capabilities of transferring power and skill to the dismal BYU team - which doesn't seem to be working.

Secondly, I occasionally attempt to engage in activities that don't require sitting. Yes, it's been hard.

And thirdly, do you realize how tricky it is to continually write mildly snide things WITHOUT including friends, family and coworkers out of fear that they will read it?! If I can't write nasty things about those three groups of people then who can I write about I ask you?! I understand it's common practice in Land of the Blogs to describe - in great detail - the everyday wonders of life. I tried that once, and when I went back to edit I wept out of envy for the impressiveness and excitement of my life, so I feel a little snobbish making others wail and gnash their teeth just to show how awesome I am. Parenthetically, I have always loved that there is a g in gnash. Gu-nash. Isn't English awesome in it's clarity? As of this very moment, I'm permanently substituting gnash for chew or bite.

Anyway. In an attempt to fit in with my people of Bloggerdom, I give a happenstance from Sunday which is both inspiring in it's mundaneness and riveting in it's detail. . .

It was HOT when I got home from church at 4:30. At least 200 degrees, and that was with all the windows open, the blinds drawn and the box fans turned up full speed. I stripped down and collapsed onto my bed, which consisted of only thin white cotton sheets since I had pulled off all the blankets the night before. I lay there, miserable, not having eaten all day and so hot that I was contemplating pulling a Britney and shaving my head. The sheets were starting to stick to me as sweat trickled down my neck and legs. I considered if it was worse to lay in heated agony on an empty stomach, or to spend my last bits of energy on walking to the kitchen, only to collapse when I found that all the ice cream and Otter Pops had been devoured by the babies. Naturally I would have to beat them, to teach them a Lesson, and that would not improve temperature conditions. To wither-melt away, or erupt lava from enacting my justice? What to do, what to do.

As I weighed my options, with my box fan only two feet away and pointed directly at me, I began to hallucinate. Or maybe just fall asleep. Who knows. Either way I began to see strange images flash through my mind. Voldemort chasing Harry Potter on a chubby pony, flying Otter Pops that were just beyond reach, me rolling metal balls down ramps at the skate park, and then -- I was in my car. Driving down the non-101 with the top down. I was going so fast, beyond fast. The wind was pushing all the heat and sweat off my body. It was tangling my hair. The wind made the intense sun almost bearable. There were so many curves on the non-101. "I don't remember all these turns on the freeway," dream me thought. I kept speeding, racing the wind down the empty curvy road. I needed the rush of air to cool my burning skin. And then I came to a turn, and I was going too fast and I knew I should slow down but I could make it I could make it the car can handle it but what is that off the turn and is that construction work going on because that looks like construction work and HAVE THEY CLOSED THIS PART OF THE FREEWAY?!?

I jerked awake right as my car had been careening full-speed off the turn, and I was facing my box fan. My box fan that was no more than two feet away, and in that split second I thought of the construction work on the non-101 and I still thought I was flying to my Death By Propeller so I YELLED and threw my hands in front of me to protect my face and SHOVED THE FAN OFF MY DESK.

That's right. I yelled, OUT. LOUD. And then shoved my fan to the floor.

But, you know, just a typical Sunday afternoon. Getting in fights with inanimate objects is my MO. And yes, the box fan survives and continues to faithfully perform its cooling duties.