M.I.A. (Like The Singer, But Not As Sri Lankan) January 3, 2008

It was most likely accumulated angst from not writing on this blog for eight straight days that led me to ask my boyfriend for blog topic suggestions as we got naked together last night.
    
I wasn’t entirely serious. But 2008 thus far? Pillow Talk: 0. Hi, I’m Awkward: 1.
     
I don’t tend to run out of things to say. 99% of me is composed of spirited opinions and the remaining 99% is an inaptitude at ever shutting the trap to said spirited opinions (Ed. note: I quit math once I arrived at college and learned that my AP credits passed me out of all necessary math requirements. I now aim for a higher truth where numbers don’t need to make sense as long as they make a point). Me and Speechless rarely find ourselves locking lips.
   
And last week, I arrived at my office, ready to write about my four crazy days of family fun. (Ed. note: Shhh. It’s slow around my office. No judging. Also? By “slow around my office,” I mean to say that it’s not slow at all. But I also mean to say that I don’t give a shit.)
    
I arrived at my office, ready to quote Tolstoy’s classic that all happy families are alike and that all unhappy families are unhappy in their own ways. And substitute unhappy with crazy. And leave you to marvel at my wittiness (Ed. note: Jay Slash Kay).
    
I arrived at my office, ready to drivel of the Wii (Wee!) my boyfriend had secretly bought while I was gone. The Wii he set up before he left for his own family fun because he knew that I returned to Chicago before him and he didn’t want me to feel too lonely. Or break the Wii in frustrated spite were I left to set it up by myself.
      
I opened the world wide web to do all this.
   
My homepage loaded. 
       
And I immediately felt sickened. Crushed. Disgusted.
 
The sadness of the photographs. The sheer panic and horrific chaos of the aftermath. The realization that every time - every single time - I saw Benazir Bhutto in the news, I marveled at her braveness and her daring. And thought, Honestly, how has this woman managed to stay alive even this long?
   
I knew a part of the sick I felt was knowing that, in the end, she didn’t. We all saw her life as a ticking bomb and the ticking bomb won.
     
Yet, it’s The Holidays (Presents!) and The New Year (Champagne!). And I am far too many awful things, but a killjoy is not one. Misery may love company, but I love when people are happy. This world needs more happy.
    
So during these past eight days of (unintended) mournful and contemplative thinking, my fingers stayed silent. Eight days that saw me dig myself into a deep hole of why the fuck is this world so full of shit? The shovels were endless. TV led to clips of the Kenyan riots. Internet pages led to articles about the Iowa primary and a sense of familiar irritation at the hackneyed finger-pointing. Emails, text messages and phone calls from friends led to sad news on a more personal level and my heart hurting for their aches. Gossip rags led to me wanting to stab the shit out of my eyes every time - every single time - I saw Jamie Lynn Spears; or, even worse, a politician’s position on anti-abortion referencing Jamie Lynn Spears. 
      
When it rains, it pours, yes? 
     
Even something like compassion is taken to an unhealthy level when felt by me (Ed. note: Yet another example of my ability to practice frightening extremes. But the consistency at which I carry myself!). I loved every inch of my four day weekend from December 28 to January 1. I enjoyed every second (I can remember) of a drunkenly hilarious (hilariously drunken?) New Years Eve that was spent with my boyfriend and friends. But me at Idle - in that absence of flurries created by activities and distractions - felt troubled and disheartened. Maybe even hopeless. Hopeless because I’m really two people in one. One constant polarity between Natural Optimist and Depressed Cynic.
     
Eventually, storms end. And maybe it’s because of the gray it immediately follows or because of the world’s need for overall balance, but the sun always seems to shine the brightest after a storm.
   
My boyfriend - ever the good sport - suggested I write about Chinese restaurants and poker. If I had let him continue, he may have also suggested soggy Italian beef sandwiches ordered from sidewalk huts while standing in foot-high snow wearing peep toe stilettos; limo drivers met in gas stations who begged us to stay while they fetched their limos; triple-fisting champagne bottles; or meeting for “brunch” with friends on New Years Day at 4:30 p.m.
 
In other words, 24 Going On “It’s No Longer You Just Having Fun, You Have A Legitimate Problem” remains the frontrunner of possible titles for my obligatory post about New Years Eve. Should I decide to be obligatory.
       
He also suggested that I just be honest. Which is what makes him my better half. This and the Wii.
        
I can only write what’s on my mind. Rather than go M.I.A., I need to remember that to write whatever is on my mind is why I began this blog in the first place. Perhaps this needs to be my goal for 2008. Since, you know, it would be very topical of me to tie in some resolutions to this post as well.
 
Happy New Year, everyone. I genuinely hope that all of you had an amazing holiday and a fucking brilliant jump start to the new year.
 
Here’s to 2008. You are already planning on practicing hell on earth come February 29th, right? Because it’s a day that doesn’t technically exist 75% of Time. Which technically means you can do whatever you want and it doesn’t count. I’m sure if I had taken math classes in college, I’d have no trouble backing this theory with a very complicated math formula but since I did not, you’ll simply have to take my word.