"I'm not crazy. My mother had me tested."*

        I woke up from my nap this afternoon with the tune to Murder She Wrote in my head. That’s weird on a number of levels. For one, I didn’t realize I remembered the theme to Murder She Wrote. And even if I did, I would never tell anyone about it, except the four of you who read this. And two, I haven’t seen, watched or even heard a reference to that show in quite a serious number of years. Not because it wasn’t awesome. Who doesn’t love an elderly lady sleuth? But because WHO THE FUCK WATCHES MURDER SHE WROTE? (Wait, is there supposed to be a comma in there? Going to look it up…)

        Okay, I just imdb-ed Murder, She Wrote and yes, there is a comma. But who cares? Because get this: that show ran for 12 goddamn seasons!?! Wow. Angela Lansbury is set for life. (Wait. Is she still alive? Going to look it up…) Yes. She is, apparently. Even after completing 264 episodes of Murder, She Wrote.

Jessica Fletcher the spy.

        Sometimes I wish I were a detective. Only I’d call myself a gumshoe, because that sounds more conspiratorial. But let’s face it: not much ever happens to me because I’m constantly sitting around writing about Murder, She Wrote or other nonsensical and unimportant crap. Although, Jessica Fletcher was also a writer, so maybe this whole thing has some sort of symbolic significance. I woke up with the Murder, She Wrote theme in my head because I’m destined to be a spy who writes novels. Or a novelist who writes about spies? Is dream analysis still a thing? Because I could definitely get into that.

Jessica Fletcher the writer.

        I tried to study my GRE math today after coming to the conclusion that I had to start at the most basic level and read carefully and do the problems and pray to the gods of numbers that I would start remembering some fraction of something I learned in high school. I literally had to start at the very beginning in a chapter called “Basic Arithmetic.” So sad and dispiriting. What am I, Laura Ingalls Wilder? I only need to know reading, 'riting, and 'rithmatic so I can measure how much cow's milk fits in a bucket or how many acres I can plow before sundown? (That's so mean to Laura. She was a great writer and farmers aren't dumb. Oh god! Digging a hole!) Good news is, I’m apparently very good at simplifying fractions. Bad news is, I can’t read directions. Or add. What if I fail the GRE? I’m really nervous/depressed/caught in a hole (another hole!) of my own making that I can’t seem to claw my way out of. Out of which I can’t seem to claw my way? Prepositions are stupid and they belong at the end of the sentence. (Whoa—there’s a game changer, for ya).

        Writing makes me happy, even if it is this sort of nonsensical bullshit. It feels sort of Virginia Woolf-ish in that stream-of-consciousness way. But she killed herself, so what’s the lesson there? Why is it that in order to feel like a writer one must necessarily also feel like a crazy person or a depressive? That seems awful, but somehow true. 

     If you've gotten this far, I appreciate your readership. This has been an exercise. Only an exercise.

DISCLAIMER: I am not crazy. 

*Sheldon Cooper (Jim Parsons) on CBS's somehow underrated (despite being on CBS) Big Bang Theory.

"New Year's Day is every man's birthday."*

           Well, I hope you all managed to stay awake until midnight and ushered in the New Year with kissing and champagne and inexplicable noisemakers (where do they come from? Were they at the party the whole time? How come we’re just now using them when we’ve been drinking all night and clearly the temptation to make noise has been ever-present?).

            I was watching a marathon of The Big Bang Theory (please don’t judge me—it’s actually kind of awesome, despite being on CBS the product of Chuck Lorre’s mind) and I had no idea it was midnight until my next-door neighbors started counting down. At which point I sighed, ate another samosa from my enormous bag of Indian delivery, and vowed that STARTING TOMORROW I would get my life together.

            And I did! I now weigh 115 lbs, am in a stable, long-term romantic relationship, own an enormous but tasteful home in the Hollywood Hills and pull down about 500K weekly at a job that fulfils me creatively and intellectually. I knew 2012 was going to ROCK!

            But seriously, folks, I did make some resolutions which I’m still hopeful about, so I thought I’d share them and maybe they will inspire all my readers (all four of you!) to be more like me. Here they are (in no particular order, unless I think of one later):

1.     Stop eating like it’s Y2K. It’s not. It’s just the end of the world in December according to the Mayan calendar and my calendar is lunar. (Or Jewish? Roman?) And didn’t the White Man wipe out the vast majority of the Mayans years ago? Boy, were they off!

Vision Board Image: My new 2012 body, complete with 2012 tan.

2.     Exercise every day from now until the end of the world. So far, I’m off to a good start. I exercised yesterday AND today.

3.     Figure out how to regulate bowels so that they move EVERY DAY. Again, I’m two for two, and I think it’s because I’ve been highly caffeinated (or because of the Indian food). So…

4.     Remain highly caffeinated from now until the end of the world. Shouldn’t be hard.

Vision Board Image: Lots of money. And guns.

5.     Stop being mean. I haven’t seen anyone in a couple of days, so that hasn’t been hard. The real challenge will come on Wednesday when I go back to work. Fingers crossed!

6.     Write everyday. I didn’t write anything yesterday, but that didn’t count because it was a holiday. So starting today, I’m writing every day. 

Vision Board Image: Potential future home in Hollywood Hills.

7.     Figure out plan for the rest of my life. To this end, I’ve looked at several online universities and read a couple reviews of GRE prep books I'm thinking about buying. Done and done. I’m also thinking of re-purposing one of my bulletin boards into a vision board.

8.     Be grateful. I have a healthy body and a semi-functional brain, my family and friends are healthy, and it’s 80 degrees in Los Angeles today. That’s a good start, but I’ll think of more and add them to my vision board.

That’s all I’ve got for now, but I will be keeping you posted on my progress and/or new goals. And you can always help me avoid my inevitable fate (homelessness) by becoming an official follower of my blog! Wouldn't that make you feel good about yourself? It would certainly make me feel good about you. (And another thank you to those of you that already do follow--I love you sooooo much.)

Hooray for 2012!?

*Quote is courtesy of Charles Lamb, who was an 18th and 19th century English essayist and poet. And he was also insane!