There was a time, not so long ago, when I would wake up, have my breakfast of Prozac and a Pepsi and be good to go. Lately however, its just not working for me. I'm in a funk. Example #1: last week my husband told me he saw Mary Kate Olsen on his way to lunch. Normally I would have reacted by asking a zillion ridiculous questions (like "was she wearing a plaid shirt with no pants?" or "How much do you think she weighed?"), but instead I responded with a non-inspiring "Hmmm". The other day I took my kids to school and immediately came home, crawled back into bed and slept for an astounding 4 hours straight. For the past two weeks I've worn nothing but wife beaters and sweat pants (even in public). With my puffy eyes and recent habit of completely ignoring my bleach blond, brittle hair, I look like a bloated washed out member of an 80's heavy metal band. When I'm not sleeping, I'm usually watching a 1990's episode of "48 Hours Mystery" on the Discovery Investigation channel. Sad.
I think I need a hobby, stat. While I do have a part time office job, where I work once or twice a week for approx 4 hours at time (literally raking in the dough) it apparently isn't enough to stave off the funk. Perhaps, like J-Lo, I'll start training for a triathlon. My ass is way smaller than hers - although she does have a $300 per hour trainer at her disposal to keep her in check, whereas I would most certainly become distracted by a VH1 reality show or a craving for a candy bar. Perhaps I should take a writing or an art class - but my current lack of self-esteem keeps me from doing any of this for fear of criticism. Whatever I do, I better do it quickly - my wife beaters are looking dingy I can watch only so many more murder mystery news shows before I actually do go insane.