Starting a Bright, Shiny Day with The Dark Knight (no spoilers)

For the last couple of few weeks Cool Mom and Rule Mom have both taken a back seat to Tool Mom -- and you can choose your definition of "tool" for the last. I have been too busy working at all of the things I need to do to make life better -- and not busy enough enjoying life. You know the old saw, "All work and no play..." Well, this Jack's been very dull indeed.

There's nothing wrong with work.

In fact, work it can be good for you. You know -- food, shelter, clothing, a sense of accomplishment -- some good things do come from work. Work only goes wrong when you do it all the time.

Who me?...Couldn't be....

I'm only pointing out that you shouldn't work all of the time because...well, you shouldn't. I would never eat (when I remember to eat, still working on that one) while sitting with a plate on my lap so that I could continue to work at the laptop taking up residence on the TV tray. Nor would I fail to eat at all, or eat dinner at 22:30 simply because I was the only one home and could take advantage of the time to get more stuff done.

We all know it was you. Admit it.

So, as I was saying, you need to learn how to play again. You need to figure out that life is good, it's all small stuff, there's nothing to fear, and whatever other cliches, quotes, and inspiration fit. You need to be a parent (well, maybe you don't, but I already gave birth); you need to work; and you need a life.

Cats? Cradles? Silver Spoons? Whatchu talkin' 'bout...?

You don't want to be sitting around contemplating your workload with that song on continuous playback in your head. It doesn't help when the young person in your life is vocal, either. "You know, you've hardly been spending any time with me. You're always working, and you know it. You should hang out with me now...in a couple of years I'm not going to want to hang out with you...and you need to get a life, too, 'cuz when I turn 18 I'm going to move out, and you'll be all alone." He listens to oldies. He must have heard the song. He's just trying to manipulate you. He's right.

Hi, my name is April, and I'm a workaholic...

So maybe I was talking about me...just a little bit. I met someone for lunch a few weeks ago who asked me, "What do you do for fun?" I didn't have a good answer and that's been bothering me ever since. I keep saying that I'm going to change...but it's time to do. I've decided to make a change for the better.

Cool Mom goes to the midnight movie...again.

I'm turning over a brand new leaf on a bright, shiny new day. Well, okay, the day isn't exactly bright and shiny yet at 15 minutes after midnight (the 12:01 shows were sold out), but The Dark Knight was a great start. Rule Mom even let me sleep an extra hour this morning (up at 7:30 instead of 6:30...she's relentless).

Keep the momentum going.

So I'm slowing down a little bit. I'm taking time to enjoy the Laphroig (and the cheeseburgers) and the company of friends. As soon as I buy a bottle and make some (burgers and friends). :^)

Are my value senses tingling?

I didn't really say anything in this post. I definitely didn't say anything that hasn't been said many, many times before. I don't think I've violated the "NO Value Added" directive. What do you think?

Steal from the best.

Just thought I should note that I've been playing around with the layout and other "stuff" on the blog (again). I got "subscribe to comments" working (finally...I think), and figured out how to get those cool "subscribe quotes" like Tei uses. I also played around with some new blogger features -- like the new blog roll - so if you are here because some software told you that I linked to you (again), that's probably it. If I think of anyone else I've ripped off flattered, I'll be sure to give credit where it's due.

Subscribe...while you're still the hero.

Ego. What a Mind-trip!

Welcome, Friends,

I'm back! Did you miss me?

I'm laughing in my brew over here, checking myself out in the mirror, and watching me shake my head ruefully. I realize that no one even noticed that I was gone. I hadn't been around long to start with, was just starting to comment here and there -- and it's not like people were actually coming to my blogs.

I had been posting pretty regularly here, and had a schedule for posting on my business blogs. Then I started getting overwhelmed -- too much life, too little time. The first thing that slipped was my schedule for business blogging. I plan to post on Thursdays. If I miss a Thursday, do I post on the next available day (and throw things off), or on the next Thursday (and go a week without a post). So, I fell behind. Too much was going on; I needed a break.

As I was considering this break, I read other posts about taking breaks from blogging. The one I remember most is from the Men with Pens. I appreciated the insights from the blogs and comments, but had to make my own decision. If I left my blog(s) for a while, would my readers come back?

As I pondered this weighty decision, my internal editor cracked up and nearly fell off her barstool. "You are your reader, ya idjit!" She cackled between gasps. "Will your readers come back?" She snorted indignantly and began giggling hysterically again. After a good laugh at my expense, she calmed down again and left me to think. I know that they don't just come if you build it (but that's another blog post); I know that I'm likely to be the only one reading my posts for a while yet; I know that becoming part of a community takes time; and I know that I'm not quite there yet. I guess I didn't know that I had so firmly enmeshed my ego with my blog presence that I had actual concerns about taking a break from reading/writing my own press. How's that for ego?

What Flavor Is Your Cheesecake?

Is it time for me to crawl into the bottle? I could just admit that I'm old and then maintain a stupor that would mask the depression. On the other hand, I could tip up the bottle and eat the worm to prove my youth...but I've never eaten a worm (except for some bbq-flavored dehydrated larva, but that's a different post). If I gagged or spit it out, the whole operation would backfire. Purpose defeated.

Don't get me wrong; I have no problem with my age. I have several gray hairs and feel that I earned every one of them -- no dye here, baby. I just don't want to be old. You know, "Damn those kids and their loud music" old. I'm contemplating my philosophical age at this moment because of a comment I posted on another blog. The post had a cool picture of a naked chick (very artful, check it out). My mind noted the cool pic and then moved on to the post and comments. That's where I lost it...or where it was revealed to me that I had lost it.

The writer said that he thought his readers needed a little cheesecake. The naked chick pic moves over in the mental notes, to be replaced with cheesecake. Mmmm...cheesecake. Now I'm asking about cheesecake; Dude where's my slice? I'm totally oblivious to the whole naked pic - cheesecake dimension. I'm showing signs of old (not age) in front of the entire blogosphere.

I'm sad. I have a vague recollection of hearing about a "study" years ago. They asked women to choose between sex and chocolate. I remember laughing because chocolate won. Now I wonder. Presented with a naked man artfully arranged on a table would I respond by gasping: Would you look at that! I'm sure that tablecloth would absolutely match a color in my dining chair cushions at home. I wonder where they got it?

So I sit in my pub and contemplate tequila. No, I'm not old. The cheesecake thing was a fluke. No stupor, no worm. I'm putting that bottle away and having my usual. Laphroig, no ice...or should I make that a "sex on the beach" to be on the safer side? Lemon-flavored cheesecake with blueberries on top does sound nice, though...