Is this my life?
I ran three miles today! I haven't run that much since I was trying to miscarry the fetus that is now the baby that rules my life. Feels good, people, feels good.
The internet is a legitimate addiction, as dangerous as gambling and sex. How many hours have I lost doing important things. Like this website, like the other one I write for, like doing "research" and "business." I've never been to Ireland, never been to Japan. Those are my top two dream countries, followed by Australia and South Africa. Or some place in Africa with a zebra. And Russia, when it gets safer. So never. But you know where I have been? Twenty thousand websites. Will my obituary list how many times I refreshed Drudge? The 24 hour news cycle has ruined me. Even now, while writing this tiny paragraph, I checked my email twice.
You can read about internet addiction right here, on the internet. Insidious. Television goes hand in hand with the internet. Its like booze and cigarettes. Except drinkers are often out, and smokers at least see the outdoors because they're forced to smoke there. But TV, well... that's another demon. I write about TV on the internet, I talk about TV on TV, I have written for TV and would like to again. So, I have to be aware of what's on TV. And there are hundreds of channels, and lots of TV shows are actually good. So I don't even feel guilty. But still, is that a life? Is that what I want my son to see and emulate?
It is not.
A Whitman sampler…
The pro-site's launch has been pushed back a few days, but we're teasing a few of our stories on our sister site, HuffingtonPost. Here's one that I wrote. The comments veer amazingly off-topic.
I turn around for five seconds…
and this is what I find:
Check out the hair whorl. According to New York Magazine, he's straight.
The Year of Living Dangerously
People, its hard to raise a baby.
I can barely articulate how exhausted I am. Mentally, emotionally. KilBaby is nine and a half months old. Every day, he figures out something new. Like how to pull a plant down off a ledge (tug on the long hanging leaves or stems or branches or whatever they're called on houseplants, I can't remember and I'm too tired to google).
Friends call, I forget. Emails, I forget. I'm pretty good on business stuff because my life depends on it. The rest fades from memory when my son finds an Advil that was under the couch. He puts everything in his mouth.
My mom is in town, free childcare. I've been doing some weeknight shows- I forgot how important it is to fuck around in front of 10 people on a Tuesday night. In fact, those shows are the ones where new material breaks. They're more important that the weekend shows. Those shows pay me just enough not to fuck around, not to take chances. Those shows make me hate comedy. Feels rote, predictable. I wish I could do more small shows. I miss that alot. I feel like a sellout even writing that.
I'm still living in my year of darkness. It's supposed to end in two and a half months, shouldn't I be able to see a ray of light by now? Some sort of sign that I'll be able to cope and conquer?
