This morning the well was dry, but with two TV’s tuned to Sunday morning shows, I was optimistic I’d come up with something.
One channel had a feature on procrastination. Perfect! I could mull it over and wait to post on the blog until later in the week. Nobody beats me at the procrastination game. I didn’t get married until I was 38, I’ve put off dieting for 65 years, delayed cleaning out my desk since the day I got a desk. But I once wrote a piece on procrastination, so that would be cheating.
Cheating! Yesterday’s New York Times had a piece on e-mails and Blackberrys alerting people to the fact that their spouses are cheating. A woman told me she’d found out her husband was having an affair when she came upon a loving instant message on the computer screen as she was making her way to e-bay. But she swore me to secrecy.
E-bay! I could blog about my addiction, that my husband worries I'll buy used shoes. This would be embarrassing and I'd be in danger of revealing my bidding strategies.
The New York Times is always a good source. Today there’s a front-page story on being tested for the cancer gene and confronting whether or not to have prophylactic surgery. This resonated. Having seen my relatives’ aged bodies and weathered faces, I had reason to consider offing myself before becoming middle-aged. But they've come up with, if not a cure for my genetic imperfections, improved hair coloring products, so I have options other than turning my grey hair blue, and Restalyne has minimized the Howdy Doody lines I recognize as both a paternal and maternal legacy. But relatives who haven't made cosmetic changes might feel insulted and think me frivolous.
While falling asleep last night, I’d considered my next blog might be about the topic du jour – the debate over our obligation to stay in Iraq and if additional time and troops will be productive. Bin Laden, O.J. and I are more popular over there than Bush, which says volumes about our PR and so-called success. I’m angry that we’re there and pissed that we’ve targeted terrorists in Iraq at the expense of so much else, that we're still not feeling safer, and resentful that Bush’s able-bodied daughters aren’t over there supporting his cause along with other American sons and daughters. Then my husband made the point, “If we hadn’t spent all those trillions in Iraq, we could have used the money to become energy-independent”. While toying with this, I interrupted myself (a familiar tool for procrastinators) to read Frank Rich, who, as he always does, analyzed it more richly (not a pun, trust me) than I could. Puns! I could blog about hating puns, maybe expand it to include jokes and jokesters. But that didn’t feel like a rich enough (denial repeated) topic.
The story about Hillary preparing to announce a health care plan triggered my anger that declining services have hit home. Every week I call Medicare, hold endlessly, shout my ID number into the phone as if the agent needs a hearing aid, in an effort to find out why my chiropractic charges not only haven’t been reimbursed since March, but have yet to show up on my online Medicare account page. The explanations vary, nothing gets resolved and my sciatica has flared up from the stress, which I won't have treated as that would create new bills and require more calls. Adding to the mix is my new cardiologist refusing to become my internist because Medicare makes it economically unsound. I can’t try to persuade him when Medicare is the best argument for Christian Science.
Clearly there’s nothing to address today…except perhaps ADD, which I obviously have. But anyone with ADD who started out reading this diatribe is, by now, long gone and into a million other things.