act now!

Well, I didn't worry about trying to keep busy today, I focused on relaxing, and it almost worked. E and I had a full-on lazy day at home. When it came time to put E to bed, though, I didn't want to. So we lay in my bed and watched tv. Regular tv. We get one channel with our rabbit ears. She kept asking for Clifford but all we had was an infomercial. It was awful: 151 Country Songs of Love, or something like that. Some Time-Life offer, "not available in stores". They had assembled a diverse crowd of extras to sit in a cafe with Glen Campbell and some young effervescent brunette, and these classic country music fans would sit and talk to each other about what a great deal this cd package was. But I hung in there, mesmerized, mainly for all the clips of 70's country stars singing their hits. Now I know what all those names look like - Conway Twitty, Loretta Lynn, George Jones, etc. I just considered it a history lesson. But I admit that was an indicator of my low mood that I couldn't think of anything better to do! And actually, part of what froze me in place was the cuddly pajama-clad toddler snuggled next to me, announcing periodically, "man!" "playing, guitar!" and asking "what's that?" ("It's a cowboy boot with flowers in it, sweetie, and a bunch of cd's.") When she got bored she'd pull the covers over both our heads.

Is airing an infomercial at 7:30 pm on a Saturday an outcome of the writers' strike? CBS must really be hurting! Or is this how tv is these days? I'm so out of touch with it, I wouldn't know. The next show was something about the greatest ever superbowl commercials. I thought, what an odd show to make up, and I assumed it was a product of the writers' strike as well -- until I remembered that the superbowl is next weekend. Oh, okay, then. I enjoyed seeing some of the actual commercials - not the phony "party" filler. I finally gave it up when E showed signs of getting a second wind. Couldn't let that happen.

I've never had much energy after 8 pm, but with a toddler I definitely don't. Consequently, I never clean up from dinner until the next morning (or sometimes, the next morning or the next!). It's depressing to wake up to the mess, but it seems even more torturous to force myself to clean it before bed. I realized tonight that I am, not surprisingly, really not myself. I'm extra spacey and lethargic. The post-surgery high dissipated into the waiting-for-lab-results funk. I've got to get out and do something tomorrow. The highlight of today was talking on the phone for an hour and a half with an old friend who'd been out of touch. Next best was the mother-daughter nap. Oh, and the dancing we did to some old school R&B on the radio provided a good few minutes. It was a good day, mostly, just capped off by that horrible tv stupor. That's probably not unusual for many modern Americans. Now I need to give the cats their meds and go to bed. The morning will be brighter!