Around the world and back

A weird low

I made banana muffins Friday morning with two aging bananas that have been resting in a colander on the microwave for several days. Not the most conventional placement for fruit, eh?

Anyways, something about the mixture of white refined flour and white sugar turns me into a strange being — someone without reason, without self-control and without shame. Throwing several down my gullet in a standing position while W is a room away is cheap thrill. A thrill that rarely if ever is available, as I know the consequences my waistline would endure.

Self preservation usually (thank god) wins in my sugar-wired brain and I force myself to throw out the doughy balls of heaven. Or in this case, late Friday night after throwing a couple down after two large beers, I ask W to dispose of them in the morning before I can attack them in my morning ravenous state.

Awakening a grumpier version of my usual puff-ball headed self, W was worried about his task. Risk angering this little woman who doesn’t seem to be herself or just let her stuff empty calories until she returns to a normal state.

All of this to say, he did well. While I was letting the doctor out for his morning task, he put the muffins in two Kroger shopping bags and into the trashcan. A plan he felt would satisfy both Jekyll and Hyde. In case I went into revolt, the muffins could be easily saved, but if I was feeling my normal self, muffins in the trash can in any form are simply not an option.

This plan worked brilliantly. I’ve been happy to have those muffs out of the house and off my mind. That is, until. Until I was left alone this morning. The trash hasn’t been taken out. Muffs remain. Only the doctor and I in the house for an extended amount of time. That puffy-headed weirdo in me came out. 

I thought, “Let’s just see how close they are to the top of the trash can. I’ll just look at them. Just to see.” 

Off I go, into the kitchen, to dig in the trash. For old muffins. I know. We had bacon for breakfast yesterday. The hardened grease had been put into the trash can. Sticking my hand in raw, seemingly curdled bacon grease is a new, but perhaps familiar, low. A low that will force a muffin freak out of her trance.

I’m not sure why I felt the need to share such an embarrassing tale, but after washing off my nasty hand, laughing and yelling profanities in my head, I just had to tell someone.

Doctor J didn’t see the problem with what I had done, he does that shit all the time, he says.

Ending an era of Internet passivity

As I enter into my final year of higher education, I am coming to realize how much more is expected of me besides a 4.0 GPA and perfect attendance record. 

I am expected to participate. In a virtual world where I was an everyday viewer, I have never been or expected to be a publisher. The thought of putting my personal life on view for all to see was (and still is) quite frightening. 

However, if I ever want to work in the communication world and put my undergraduate skills to work I have to get over this fear. But more than that, as a lover (perhaps too passionately) of other people’s blogs, it seems only logical that I should give this a shot. 

This is my attempt of ending what has felt like a lifetime of Internet passivity.