This is Movember, where I grow a moustache for prostate health. Prostate cancer is the #1 cancer affecting men. You can donate or just watch me grow a cheesy moustache all month. (Proceeds go to the Prostate Cancer Foundation and Livestrong.) To see how much money is being raised by Movember thus far, CLICK HERE. To date, I’ve helped raise $60.

I’m also doing a 30-day meme, the whole of which can be found here.

Today’s photo of the ’stache-in-progress:

And as of today, it’s been 11 weeks since I had a cigarette. Go, me!

Day 16- Another picture of yourself

(Click on the pic to embiggify)

There’s a picture of me at 3 years of age, sitting in a tree (but not K-I-S-S-I-N-G). There aren’t many photos of me in my youth, since we lost many of them in a cross-country move when I was a teenager. As you can see, I’m wearing glasses. I got my first pair when I was 18 months. Yeah.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

What does depression feel like? That’s what ads for antidepressants ask us, as they parade about cartoons of sad rocks rolling lazily along a sparse black and white landscape. Right now, it feels like this enormous weight sitting on my chest, one that refuses to go away.

I look fine on the outside (even on Twitter), but I’m not. You’d think I’d be happy about going 7 weeks (today) without a cigarette. But in actuality, quite a bit of late I feel as if I’m on the verge of a panic attack. I face each day with dread…another day to face with far too much time on my hands and no way to pass that time.

I know, I realize that many people complain about not having enough time, so it sounds crazy to bitch about having too much of it. Trust me, it’s a grass-is-always-greener thing. There is such a thing as too much time. I have a fine appreciation these days for certain idioms, like “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”

My brain is my worst enemy. I cannot imagine living the rest of my life this way, and yet somehow I manage to do just that. I lay in bed, awake, for hours at a time…wondering. How can I continue skating by like this, day to day, no income other than disability, not working, living with my mother, so scared at times that I can’t leave the house, spending 20 minutes just trying to decide what to eat, the weight on my chest, hopeless? Every action I take seems pointless.

Someone left a comment on my last post, saying something to the effect of “just forget about working and let the bills take care of themselves.” I don’t know if they were attempting to be humorous but I didn’t find it very funny. Much as my life may seem like a joke, it’s not a joke to me. Granted, my sense of humor is more than a tad lacking right now.

I see the future and it looks bleak to me because I’m alone. And that’s something that really shakes the bajeezus out of me. Who do I have to take care of me when I get old? I know, what the fuck am I thinking about this shit for at 44? Because I’m likely closer to death than I am to my birth. What? I said it looks bleak.

This is more than a mid-life crisis, I assure you. I feel like I’m drowning and it’s been building for a while. All comfort seems to elude me. TV, music, books, Twitter and Facebook, even talking with friends…it all falls flat.

I would prefer non-existence over this. As the Old 97’s sang once, “Parts of me have already died.” I’m NOT suicidal, for the record. Don’t go calling anyone to slap the white jacket on me and throw me in a rubber room. I’m just in a really bad place, and at a total loss about what to do.

I see that “30 Days of Truth” blog meme going around. I’ve thought about trying it, but it’s an awfully lengthy way to gaze at my navel even more than I’ve already been doing. Besides, my blog has already turned into nothing but depressing Truth.

I feel like my best years are all gone. I feel like I’ve run out of things to say, and that no one could possibly find me interesting, let alone want to hang out with me. I dread gatherings of people now more than I think I ever have. Can’t imagine facing anything like BlogHer or TequilaCon in my present state of mind. Hell, I struggle just to go out to dinner right now.

I have fucked up virtually all aspects of my life, and there are no do-overs.

Don’t you just wanna party with me? Honest, I used to be funny. I just don’t know where that man is any more.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

A week ago I was still sucking on cigarettes. Then on Tuesday, it looked as if Mom was going to come home from the hospital after 15 days stuck in that building. Doctors and respiratory therapists said things to my mother like, “If you go home and start smoking again, you’re going to wind up right back here.”

I shook my head because I knew Mom wouldn’t quit smoking, even if she’d gone two weeks without a cigarette (albeit not by choice). Then, the craziest thing happened: Mom decided to stay quit. Which meant *I* had to quit, too, or else she’d never stay quit.

So Tuesday morning I had my last couple of smokes, brushed my teeth, showered, and put on a patch. She didn’t come home Tuesday; she came home Wednesday.

But it’s now Day 7 of The Quitting and I haven’t shot anybody. Yet. Tomorrow makes a full week for me, today makes THREE weeks for Mom.

Instead of sucking on cigarettes now, I’m sucking on straws. This is something I came up with the last time I attempted to Quit. I take a regular drinking straw and cut it down to roughly the length of a cigarette and I use that as a substitute. If I squint (and am drunk), it’s almost like the real thing.

Straws, patches, and chewing gum are thus far saving my ass. That, and knowing I’m not the only one quitting. Friends ZenBitch and Shannon quit over the weekend, too, which rocks. Despite Shannon’s shitty weekend – losing a friend – she stopped smoking yesterday, so kudos to her. And to ZenBitch, too.

Claiming that she picked a hell of a weekend to quit smoking, I can tell Shannon that there’s never a “good” time to quit. Something stressful is always happening…at least as far as I’m concerned. I’m still stressed with Mom now that she’s home. Hell, she’s still on antibiotics, she’s using oxygen and breathing treatments, might have a little pneumonia, and still has a PICC line.

Believe me, I’d love to still be smoking…part of me would love it, anyway. But I can’t.

The last few days, I’ve (re)watched the “Back to the Future” trilogy. I never get tired of those movies. Thing is, I’ve seen the future – as a smoker. It includes hospitals, being tied to IVs, oxygen, nebulizers, having a hard time getting a breath, no endurance, lung cancer…things I really, really don’t want.

It’s been a fucked up year, 2010. Next month I’ll be 44 years old. I skipped the Summer of Love this year, as well as my Birthday Dares…just not feeling it. I have no grand plans for my birthday, even though it falls on a Saturday, but the one thing I can say about turning 44 is that I’ll be a non-smoker.

That’s the best gift I could hope to get myself.

Though I’d gladly take a (non-smoking) girlfriend. Or an iPhone 4. Or a Kindle. Or this Star Wars shower curtain. Just about anything from Think Geek. Or a Blu-Ray player with the soon-to-be released Blu-Ray “Back to the Future” trilogy.

See? I’m not (incredibly) picky.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Day 16 of Mom’s hospital stay. She was said to be going home today. And since (drum roll, please) she agreed to quit smoking, I cleaned out her room last night. No more ashtrays or smokes, they’ve all been thrown away. And I Febreezed the shit out of everything. That’s 50 years of being a smoker for her, by the way.

It has been verified by Candy, non-smoking friend: you can’t smell the smoke. Mom’s room was the only smoking room in the house, so I sprayed Febreeze again this morning, just to be sure.

This morning I had my last smoke before tossing all MY smokes and the last ashtray. Now I’m wearing a patch. So far so good; course, it’s only been a few hours.

Doctor this morning said he wants Mom to get another CT scan before discharge, so she may not go home today, after all. They want to be sure there’s no more free roaming fluids in her chest or abdomen.

Which means I could have quit smoking tomorrow.

Dammit!

Oh well, no going back now. It’s August 24, my name is Karl, and I’m a recovering smokeaholic. This time I hope it sticks. For good.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Day 12 of Mom in hospital. White count still too high and they don’t know why. Tomorrow they’re going to do a bronchoscopy to “wash” out her lung and see if there’s an infection.

Karin is on her way here with the fam. Staying till Sunday.

Me. I’m ok. Frazzled, but going day to day. I’ve been in this hospital every day for 12 days now and I’m way over it, even with a daily afternoon dose of Mythbusters on TV.

I have yet to really broach the smoking topic with Mom. Karin wants to clean Mom’s room this weekend. I’m probably gonna have to play go between. While she feels we should ditch all the smokes, I’m not gonna allow it unless Mom says it’s okay. Ugh on several levels.

I wish Mom would quit. I’d even quit if it meant her not smoking any more. Hell, at this point it’s stupid if she starts again when she springs this joint. 12 days without, and it’s likely at least another 4 days till she is outta here.

Right. Just now talked about it with Mom. She said no about cleaning her room. As for the smoking, it’s food for thought, she says. I told her that I can’t handle this hospital shit, and I don’t want her future to be loaded with hospital stays. Worse yet, to go out like her husband did? That’d kill me to go through.

I dunno. Food for thought. Maybe the Guilt card is the way to go. Keep laying it out there and hope she quits.

Shit. Now *I* need a smoke.

Written on my phone.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

It’s day 8 now with Mom in the hospital and me making it a second home. A week ago yesterday that we almost lost her. Hoping this is her week to go home, but that depends on her white blood cell count coming down.

They say nurses are the worst patients and I understand why. They have a lot of insight into what’s going on, ask lots more questions than “normal” people, and think they know what’s best, often refusing to do what is ordered.

With Mom, it’s little things that make a big difference. For instance, her bed position. She keeps wanting it flat when she should be on at least a 30-degree elevation. Her lungs have fluid in them, so being flat only makes it harder to breathe. Does she listen? No. She just keeps readjusting her bed.

Me, I’m stuck between being a pain in the ass and doing what’s best for Mom. Be easier if she was in a coma, I think.

Then there’s the big smoking issue. Do I do as my sister suggests, clean the house of all ashtrays and throw away all the cigarettes? Febreeze the living shit out of everything? Because Mom keeps saying how much she wants a smoke, and I’m thinking that’s just what she needs. Not. It’s been 8 days since she had a smoke. Her body is detoxed, as they say. At this point the desire is all mental.

And am I ready to quit myself? Anxious and stressed as I am, I don’t think so. But I can’t really expect Mom to quit if I don’t. Ugh. I know if someone threw away my cigs against my will I’d be pissed. But should I care? Tossing away all the smokes would be a healthy thing. It’s the smoking that is causing some of the troubles she’s facing right now with her breathing and lungs.

When you consider everything, especially that her husband died of lung cancer 6 years ago, it seems retarded that she still smokes. Me, too. I helped take care of him those last months and it wasn’t pretty.

Fuck. I’m an asshole if I toss ‘em all, I’m an asshole if I don’t. In the meantime, there’s a reprieve because Mom isn’t going home today. Or tomorrow. She isn’t strong enough to even make it downstairs to smoke outside here.

But soon. She is walking slowly up and down the halls. Just a matter of time.

Everything and every decision seems a ginormous task right now. Checking the mail, getting the morning paper, calling people, picking up more baby powder from the store. It’s all draining. Add to that the fact that I’m supposed to eat three meals a day. Ugh.

Speaking of which, it’s lunchtime. Mom’s tray is here, the food growing cold while she sleeps. I should wake her and get her eating, then head down to the cafeteria to get myself something.

Mmm. Hospital food.

(written on my iPhone so pardon the errors)

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

This week has been a total write-off as far as exercise is concerned. I’ve been sick for a week now, and even though I’m pretty sure it’s just a cold, it’s been kicking my ass. Major snot factory, coughing, wheezing, headaches, sore throat, etc. (And yes, I’m keenly aware that smoking isn’t helping…that Resolution will come later this year. Not ready for that one yet.)

Being sick isn’t something I do well. It’s a rarity to begin with, perhaps once a year (twice if it’s a bad year). In this case, it’s been over a year since I was last afflicted with anything. Physical, I mean. Mentally, I’m afflicted many times over, of course.

We’re nearly done with March already, but I’m calling the exercise Resolution successful. I’ll start on it again as soon as I’m up to snuff. Let’s take a look at the Resolutions so far, yeah?

January: Diabetes. This is still going strong, mostly. I’ve been a bit lax on checking sugar this past week. Getting on the horse again, though. My sugar this morning (before meds or breakfast) was 211. High, yes, but again…haven’t been great about everything this past week. Sugar the last week has averaged 146.

I’ll be filling my weekly pillboxes when I finish here. Doing really good taking my meds most of the time, too.

February: Work. Meh. Not so great here. Plan to get to work today, as well. Gotta write a story. And I haven’t even begun looking for another writing gig, though I’m totally open to more.

March: Exercise. Already mentioned. I plan on continuing with this. I’ve seen how it affects (positively) my blood sugar…knocks it down quite a bit. And that’s a good thing. That was part of the idea behind the Year of Resolutions: that they’d interplay in various ways, all to make me feel better physically and mentally.

Now it’s time to think about April. We’re only days away from it and I need to come up with another Resolution. I have it narrowed down to a few ideas, but am open to more suggestions. I’m leaning toward something spiritual at the moment. We’ll see.

I’ll be announcing the winner(s) of the Funniest Sex Story contest tomorrow. Got some really good entries.

Lordy, I need a new computer. Finally fixed my problematic mouse by getting a new wireless mouse. Works fine now…must have been the old mouse’s receiver that was the problem. But my 4-yr-old Dell laptop is just sluggish. Takes nearly 7 or 8 minutes to fully boot. Maxed on RAM, dependent on an external hard drive.

Oh, Apple, why can’t you send me a shiny new MacBook Pro on a scholarship or something?

In the good news department, I’m mending things with a friend, and that feels nice. The last few months have been a whirlwind of a roller coaster ride. The Matrix Therapist noted that I seem “different” at our last session. Not sure what that means, exactly, but she said I seem “mellower.”

The new meds seem to be doing something, I’m just not sure what, exactly. My energy levels seem higher (this past week notwithstanding). My mood? Perhaps better, but not markedly so.

The new 2HT design is coming along. Not on the schedule I was hoping for, but then that’s what happens when your designer has sick kiddos. Fucking priorities…ugh. The development site is up and running. I’m thinking it should only be a couple of weeks, but can’t be sure. In the meantime, the runner-up from the Funniest Sex Story contest is getting a sneak-peek at the new design with a specially-made item from the 2HT store.

Speaking of which, there’s a new shirt for the dudes. I already had a girl’s shirt made up. Now the guys are free to tell it like it is, too.

Seriously, It’s Not Me. It’s You. MEN SHIRT by karlerikson

Naturally, you can customize the color and style of shirt.

Lastly, I decided to end my relationship with my ad network. I love BlogHer, don’t get me wrong. I just got tired of being suspended for the occasionally offensive post, or for running a giveaway. If I was pulling in hundreds of dollars in revenue, that’d be one thing, but I’m not. I barely cover my monthly hosting costs. Just not worth it any more.

So that’s what’s going on with me at the moment. How about you?

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Heya.  This is Wayne from the blog of whall.  All I’m going to say is… there are more than a few inside jokes in this.

Summer of Love Guest Post by whall for Karl from whall on Vimeo.

Karl asked me to guest post. This is what he gets.

If you need it, here’s a direct link to the youtube video.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Many thanks to last week’s guest bloggers: Turnbaby, Anissa, James, and Janelle. I’m digging the Summer of Love this year, as I always do. And this week, I’ll be here even LESS frequently than last week because there’s a guest post every day this week except for today and Wednesday. Happy, happy, joy, joy.

An odd thing happened last week. I actually found myself writing down blog post ideas again. Hell, I now have a Blog Ideas note on my iPhone! Feels good to be back, inspired by so much great writing with all these guest posts. Just WANTING to write again feels pretty weird, but I’m liking it.

So a couple of weeks ago, I went to the local VA Clinic here in Sebring to see a social worker/counselor about my depression. I’ve been through a shitload of therapy over the years, not to mention several pharmacies’ worth of meds, so it’s hard not to go into AutoPilot mode while answering what I now consider routine questions from counselors, therapists, social workers, and shrinks. Still, I did my best to get acquainted with yet ANOTHER counselor.

We decided that I should see a shrink (again) to talk/manage my meds, and so she made me a consult. Thing is, there are no shrinks at the local VA Clinic any more, so I had to drive to a VA Clinic a couple of hours away to see one. That was what I did Friday.

I listened to a couple of Adam Carolla podcast episodes on the way, so the drive flew by. That, and the occasional Tweet and text, and countless cigarettes (which I will be quitting again very soon because $45/carton is fucking insane).

I’m generally the youngest guy in the waiting area when I walk into the VA. When I saw an old dude riding into the waiting room on a motorized scooterchair while simultaneously texting someone on his iPhone, though? Yeah, I got a glimpse of my future 30 years down the road.

So my new shrink, right. She was very nice and had a sexy Indian accent. And regrettably, didn’t dress anything like THIS sexy Indian doctor.

Our conversation went a little something like this:

Hot Indian Doctor: So I see you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder, Bipolar Disorder -

Me: And a partridge in a pear tree, yep.

HID: Now, your meds. I see here that you haven’t done a refill on any of them since February.

Me: Really, wow. Yeah, I’m in the midst of one of my semi-occasional self-destructive phases, where filling my pillboxes every week is kind of a monumental task and so I just kinda…stop taking them.

HID: That’s not good, Karl.

Me: Thus, the self-destructive phase.

HID: Were the meds not doing anything for you?

Me: At this point, it’s hard to say just what medications are effective and which ones aren’t. Hell, I’m on FOUR of them for depression and bipolar alone.

HID: And how has your depression been?

Me: Bad enough to come in to see a social worker and get a consult to see you.

HID: Are you isolating yourself?

Me: Yes, y’know, aside from online interactions and a few phone calls to close friends.

HID: Having trouble sleeping? Nightmares? Flashbacks?

Me: Yes, yes, and yes.

HID: How many nightmares do you have?

Me: Three or four a week.

HID: That’s excessive.

Me: I know, I’ve complained to the management, but they don’t seem to listen.

HID: Do you ever feel suicidal?

Me: Suicidal ideation, yes, but I’d never act on it and, no, I don’t have any plans cooked up to do anything with those thoughts.

HID: Most patients don’t use the word “ideation.”

Me: This ain’t my first rodeo, doc.

HID: What sort of support system do you have?

Me: One local friend and many online friends. A few close friends I can talk to on the phone.

HID: When you’re feeling really depressed, do you cut yourself off from even your close friends?

Me: Sometimes, but I’ve gotten much better about it over the years.

HID: And how do you earn money?

Me: I sell smack to schoolchildren.

HID: What?

Me: I mean, I’m a writer.

HID: What sorts of things do you write?

Me: I have a professional gig at a gossip blog, and another one at a travel blog. And then there’s my personal blog.

HID: And what do you write there?

Me: Mostly I write about vaginas.

HID: Vaginas?

Me: Yes, according to my blog stats, vaginas are the number one search term that bring people to my blog.

HID: And are you in a romantic relationship now?

Me: If I was in a romantic relationship, do you think I’d be writing about vaginas all the time?

HID: I don’t know, would you?

Me: Probably. I really like vaginas.

HID: And is it your depression that keeps you out of relationships?

Me: It’s a lot of things. Living in Sebring, depression, being 42 and living with my mother…

HID: You live with your mother?

Me: Try to contain yourself, doc. I know that’s a huge turn-on.

HID: And your bipolar disorder. When you experience mania, do you find yourself with a lot of racing thoughts, impulsive behavior, excessive anger, and wild mood swings?

Me: Yes.

HID: Tell me about the racing thoughts.

Me: Well, I have those pretty much all the time. I generally have at least 50 different divergent thoughts in my head at any given moment.

HID: Such as?

Me: Well, right now, I’m thinking of what I’m going to post in my blog on Sunday, where I’m going to eat lunch after this, how I haven’t gotten laid in two years, vaginas, what sorts of meds you’re going to prescribe for me that I hope will make me magically feel awesome but I know won’t, that there’s a ketchup stain on my shorts, how much I miss my friend Lisa, how I have been avoiding cleaning my bedroom like the Plague, how I hope a dear friend with fibromyalgia is feeling better today, that I kinda wish I was mildly stoned all the time, and I’m imagining what you look like naked. Oh, and vaginas. Did I mention the vaginas?

HID: And it’s like this all the time?

Me: Pretty much. Course, if you take off your clothes, that’ll be one less thought to fight for space in my head.

HID: Anxiety attacks?

Me: Yes, please, may I have another?

HID: When do you feel anxious?

Me: When I’m awake, mostly.

HID: No, I mean what situations make you feel most anxious?

Me: Social situations. Leaving the house. Getting down to my last pack of cigarettes, because it means leaving the house and subsequently interacting with live people.

HID: Yet you go to these – what did you call them? – blogger parties?

Me: Yeah, usually a few every year. I’m getting ready to go to Chicago next week to hang around 1,000 women and a dozen men.

HID: And that makes you anxious?

Me: Um, YEAH. But I have to push myself out of my comfort zone, or else I’d never interact with another human being in person.

HID: And how do you deal with your anxiety in these settings?

Me: I drink and make lots of jokes about boobs and vaginas.

HID: Around 1,000 women?

Me: Yep. It helps to weed out the cool chicks from the ones with sticks up their asses. I feel much more comfortable hanging with the cool chicks because they know that I’m full of shit and a total teddy bear hiding behind lots of inappropriate humor, and that if any one of these women called my bluff and offered to go to my hotel room I’d probably freak out.

HID: That’s an interesting way of coping with severe anxiety.

Me: I’ve spent decades honing my coping skills, and I’m kind of a complex guy. You figure out what works and what doesn’t over time.

HID: Do you drink a lot?

Me: Not a lot. Usually.

HID: Enough to black out?

Me: No, no. Nothing like that. A few episodes of projectile vomiting that make Linda Blair look like she’s drooling, but no blacking out.

HID: That’s not good, Karl.

Me: I know. I’m turning over a new leaf.

HID: Illegal substances?

Me: Why, what have you got?

HID: No, I mean do you use any?

Me: If I was in Amsterdam, I’d answer no.

HID: We’re in the United States.

Me: Ah, so we are.

HID: You don’t shoot up or anything?

Me: Shit, no! I’m a wuss when it comes to needles.

HID: But you’re an insulin-dependent diabetic.

Me: I know. My life is truly a series of neverending incongruities.

HID: So I’m going to refill TWO of the four prescriptions. I don’t want to start you on anything new at the moment…

Me: Really? But I don’t think the stuff I was taking before was helping much.

HID: Yes, well, for now. You’ll continue to see the social worker in Sebring and we’ll schedule a follow-up for 3 months down the road. If you should need anything before then, simply tell the social worker and we can adjust things as needed.

Me: *sigh*

HID: Is there anything else, Karl?

Me: You’re really not going to take off your clothes, are you?

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

For those that are too young to remember that quote, “Da Plane! Da Plane!” is from the original Fantasy Island TV show. And that particular line was from the midget known as Tattoo, Khan’s right-hand man. Or Mr. Roarke, whatever.

I bring up Tattoo because I may actually be getting my first tattoo in a couple of weeks. Not the TequilaCon variety of tattoo, which comes off within a few days, a REAL one.

That’s right, Mr. Wild & Crazy is tatless. But my pending road trip to Lexington, Kentucky for the party fest known as ConFab has me thinking about getting one. There’s going to be a tattoo excursion and I think I’m going along for it.

The problem with tattoos, for me anyway, is finding the right one. What the hell do you put on your body PERMANENTLY when you’re one of those people who bore fairly easily? It’s not like my desktop wallpaper, where I can change the picture dozens of times a day if I feel like it. Tattoos don’t come off. Not without lasers, at any rate, and I’ve yet to go peeling off layers of epidermis with laser beams…don’t feel like starting now, either.

So contemplating something cool enough to place on your body is difficult, especially when you’re thinking 40 years down the road. What’s cool enough, significant enough, to put on your arm or shoulder or the small of your back, that isn’t going to look positively ridiculous when you’re 82 years old and not the tight, lean, fighting machine you are today? (cough)

I don’t know the answer to that question, but I’m working on it. The only thing I can think of so far is to get the little cartoon smoking guy at the top of my blog. See, even when I quit smoking (and I will), I’m pretty sure that some iteration of the smoking dude will always appear here at 2HT. So that’s where I’m leaning at the moment.

Course, I could make that 14-hour drive to Kentucky in a couple of weeks and totally change my mind. I could wander into the tattoo parlor, see the needle, and say “No fucking way.” But for now, I’m feeling more and more like this may be my first ink. We’ll see. Thoughts?

Now for a meme. I got tagged by Kim for this Crazy 8’s meme. Haven’t done one in a while, so I thought I’d give it a go. I don’t tag people back, but feel free to yank it and put it on your own blog, of course.

To do list (i.e. “the rules”):

1. Mention the person who tagged me, and I did !!
2. Complete the list of 8’s, and I did !!
3. Tag 8 bloggers & tell them I tagged them!

Eight things I am looking forward to:

1. ConFab, June 11-13, roughly. Lots of friends, old and new.
2. Road trip with Jill TO ConFab.
3. Watching the “Reaper” series finale some time today.
4. The magical room-moving fairies that are going to clean my current bedroom and move all my shit into the NEW bedroom.
5. BlogHer ‘09, Chicago (July)! Rooming with Neil, a first time attendee, and a chick magnet.
6. SecondHand Radio tomorrow night. My guest is my buddy Mike. Gonna be a blast.
7. Sex. Just kidding, there’s virtually no chance of that happening any time soon.
8. iPhone 3.0!

Eight things I did yesterday:

1. Worked
2. Went to Walgreens
3. Had dinner with Mom & friends at the Olive Garden
4. Watched far too much television.
5. Hung out with Mindy and Sarah for a while last night.
6. Played a fuckton of Zombieville USA on my iPhone.
7. Listened to Adam Carolla’s podcast. Seriously? Best podcast on Earth.
8. Smoked.

Eight things I wish I could do:

1. Play piano.
2. Have sex, maybe on the piano.
3. Finish one of my frakking novels.
4. Heal relationships.
5. Travel the world.
6. Escape my depression forever.
7. Get a new pancreas so I can eat giant fishbowls full of Fruity Pebbles again.
8. Marry Jaime Murray.

Eight shows I watch:

1. Jeopardy
2. Fringe
3. Lost
4. Heroes
5. Extreme Makeover: Home Edition
6. Leverage
7. House
8. Criminal Minds

Eight favorite fruits:

1. Grapes
2. Bananas
3. Watermelon
4. Cherries
5. Pineapples
6. Oranges
7. Apples
8. Peaches

Eight places I’d like to travel:

1. Australia
2. U.K.
3. Netherlands
4. Spain
5. Hawaii
6. Canada
7. Africa
8. Alaska

Eight places I’ve lived:

1. Westhampton Beach, NY
2. Alamogordo, NM
3. England
4. Biloxi, MS
5. Dallas, TX
6. San Antonio, TX
7. Boca Raton, FL
8. Sebring, FL

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan