It happens to the best of us from time to time. We get too visible, there is too much at stake, there is something we have to say but can't. Miss Ann knows. So do some of the rest of you.

So we go away. If we can't stay away...we go somewhere else.

Which is what I've done. If I haven't told you already where I am and you want to know, drop me a line here. If you are a friend of coffee (not a friend of Dorothy, although that would be a bonus) ... I will let you know.

And if not...it's been a lot of fun. I hope to be back someday... 

In the meantime...I will share with you things that I learned along the way:

• Florida is full of sweaty, sticky children who like to eat candy.
• That Emeril can really cook.
• Savannah is a gorgeous city.
• Work is just a job and caring about it so much that you neglect other parts of your life/make yourself sick/think that it’s anything more than just a job is just really dumb.
• I love Thomas the GPS. He gets me wherever I need to go and I don't have to think about it. 
• The Appalachian Mountains are very curvy to drive on, but really really beautiful.
• I like to knit.
• There is something to be said for having two days of bright sunshine and good tunes and wide open road ahead of you.
• There is no place like home.

Okay, so it's not like I have much of a choice. A conference next week for work is landing me in Sunny Orlando for a few days, and I took the rest of the week off to not have to be at work. Here's my quandary. I am done with the conference stuff Wednesday at noon. I booked an evening flight back to Cleveland on Friday, hoping to have a few days to kick around and do nothing. I wanted The Boy to be able to join me, but the two dogs and one cat kind of made that difficult to swing this time around. That being said, I was looking at rental car deals for when I was in Florida after all of my colleagues left. I found this stupidly great deal that Hertz is running that made me rethink my plans a little. They are apparently trying to move cars from the South to their Northern locations for the summer months, and I can pick up a small car on Sunday when I get there, and return it the following Sunday in Cleveland for ... get this ... $62 including tax for the whole week with unlimited miles.

Which means that I could jump in the car when I am done with the conference and cruise the open road for a few days while I made my way back home to The Boy and The Babies. Kind of like Thelma and Louise, but solo and without the messy, sad ending. I did the math, and the fuel costs wouldn't be crazy-high for the 800 mile jaunt. I wouldn't do it all in one day...but it's not THAT long of a drive anyhow.

What do you think? Do you think I should try to find some cheap hotel in Orlando and just kick around pool side until Friday, or should I hit the open road and enjoy a few e-mail and meeting free days? 

Call it, kids.

It was quite brutal, actually. There I was, driving along, minding my own business. The sun was shining. And then…

This horrible, drooling, snarly green-eyed monster whacked me over the head and almost knocked me out. The sun was no longer shining, and all I could see was terrible shades of gray and green. (The eye-bursting type? Hmm. Be careful what you wish for.) He dragged me to the side of the road and proceeded to beat the living shit out of me.

“Your parents went to the casino this weekend and won a thousand bucks and the last time you went, you didn’t win anything!” Whack!

“Those cute new shoes that you wanted last week just went on sale and your best friend bought the last pair! Ha!” Thud!

“See that impossibly thin girl across the street? She eats whatever she wants and never gains a pound because of her amazing metabolism. She doesn’t even work out, fatty.” Smash!

“You can’t even cast on properly and look at that gorgeous scarf she knit in an hour.” Whomp!

I lay there…beaten. It all seemed too much to take. Then he started making fun of me.

“Awww. You feel so bad for yourself don’t you?! It’s not enough to have food in your belly and a roof over your head? You have to want stupid shit? You know those shoes you thought were so great? Well, they hurt her feet and she had to charge them anyhow. You don’t have a credit card balance and no mortgage or car payments.”

I spat out some blood and tried to protest.

“Shuttup!” he shouted. “You want that girl’s metabolism, and yet you are healthy while there are plenty of people who are sick and just want to survive. You want a vacation, but have a job that sends you all over the country for free…”

“Seriously?! What the hell do you want?” he growled.

I picked myself off of the ground and wiped my mouth. I looked that malicious, awful, nasty monster straight in the face, and said, “Your eyes are so green. Are those contacts? Really, I wish my eyes were some interesting color and not so boring brown.”

The blogosphere is dead. Truly. I’m lazy when it comes to finding new blogs to read. I like to pick out a few comfortable places to settle down with, then ride ‘em out till the end. Unfortunately, it seems most of these wonderful blogs have slowly but surely lapsed into stagnation. I have to wonder though, what is the average lifetime of a blog? From experience, it seems to be under 2 years. Blogs with their own domain — indicative of perhaps more dedication by its owner — seem to last a little longer, but not much. My two gal pals have deserted me; enter Melodrama. Hot Coffee Girl has posted a few rubbish entries (yes, you heard me, woman — absolute rubbish!), and Rhys has more or left me for dead. Probably for her burgeoning webcam fetish business.

Hey, Phil, big talk from a man who left his Christmas Template up until well into the New Year.  

So, I am posting for shit about shit. What do you want to hear? That I get up, go to work, come home, and do it all again the next day? Yawn. I am boring. I have nothing to say. I am not miserable. I am just pabulum. Vanilla ice cream. Beige.

I want to be eye-bursting green again, I just don't know how to get it back.  

Maybe when I go see Avitable later this month, he'll have some extra lying around he can lend me.

The Boy is going to kill me when he finds out that I did this to his dog... 

Okay, I have been really busy. Last week, we launched a project that had been giving me bleeding ulcers in its importance to my department, my agency, and obviously, the client. Because, of course, I never mention any names or revealing details in the interest of keeping said job, I will only say that it was important in that all future dealings with this client hinged on a successful execution. And I was reminded (on more than one occasion) that I need to make sure that happens. No pressure or anything.

It went well. It went well because I work with some really amazing people, a few of whom will do whatever it takes to get it done and get it done right. We're not perfect, but there's always that core group that will stay and have your back in the heat of battle. We fight the good fight and get better at every pass. I like that. (Okay, we occasionally snap and throw thumb drives at each other, but whatev.)

We're all kind of recovering in the aftermath...and as the post-launch fog begins to burn off, we are cleaning up details of everything else that thoughtlessly forgot to stop while we were busy. That's the blessing and the curse of working in an Advertising Agency...there is almost never a dull moment. There is always a new project. That feels good sometimes, and it sometimes is enough to drive you fucking batshit crazy. There's rarely that moment when you get to sit back and enjoy the moment. Celebrate the success. You just let out a deep breath, turn, and start on the Next Big Thing.

So, I am taking a few days off. Thursday and Friday added to Saturday and Sunday will make for a welcomed and needed mini-break. I feel like I need to remind myself that this is not brain surgery. That I am not saving lives here. That I need to not take things too seriously. After all, it's just advertising for fuck's sake.
 

So when I see all of these cute sweaters and hats and blankets that people make and I want to make them too, I say to myself, "Self, you're a bright girl. You can figure things out."

Which would explain my purchase today...a kit that swears on it's package that it has everything you need to "Learn How to Knit." Yay! I had visions of myself making cute little scarfs for friends, sending Miss Ann a cozy blanket, all manner of projects. I pictured myself curled up all cozy, candlight flickering in the background, and me knitting this fabulous thing.

Instead, I opened the pretty book with the colorful pictures ("for beginners and experts alike!" it proclaimed) and found myself completely fucking lost. I mean, I understood the some of the words. Knot. Needle. Yarn. These things I was prepared for. But cast on? Purl? There were these pictures of hands holding the things I knew but I couldn't get my brain to understand that they went together in some kind of order. It looked really simple until I tried to connect it to what it was asking me to do. Then...well, nothing.

I wonder if this is a thing that is passed down from generation to generation. I think that if you grew up with a grandmother or a mother who knitted, it is something that you will eventually be able to do. Perhaps it's genetic, not environmental. Perhaps my DNA cocktail is sans the knitting ingredient. Either way, I do not come from a long line of Stitching Bitches, and I am afraid that the art is lost on me as well. If you need me, I'll be at The Gap picking up a chunky fisherman's sweater.

I do come from a long line of shoppers. 

I have bought not one but two different kinds of hands-free headset thingies for my phone. Why? Because I had one that was Goldilocks-Just-Right, and I can't find it anywhere. Neither one I bought fit properly, and I refuse to drive and talk on the phone unless I have that thing in. (No, I don't wear it anywhere outside of Ursula. I am not this guy.) I found one that was close, and I use that when I have to, but it's not the same as the old one that of course I can't find in the stores anywhere.

I got into my car this morning, and there sat Thomas, tucked comfortably in his little dash-nook where I had left him over a week ago. I pushed the red button (and took the blue pill) and headed off to work reassured by his crisp English accent.

As soon as I got there, I grabbed a couple of straggling items from my old office, before heading to my new one. Just as I plopped down my tennis shoes that I kept under the table but never used (what am I a runner?) ...  there sat my earpiece that had vanished.

I felt like I won the lost-shit lottery.

I am holding out hope that my mojo will turn up soon. I have been missing it for months now.

 Wow. Tell me I don't look a day over 21. Lie if you have to. (And you'll have to.)

(Although since Phil is in London, it was my birthday there hours ago, and he got a head start.) 

Also, please make sure that if you are older than I am, you tell me that, too.