(I haven't blogged for several days, and I just don't have the soundness of mind to search cyberspace for something thought-provoking today. Instead, here's a letter demonstrating the kind of mood I'm in, as well as my remarkable capacity for servanthood, of course.)
Dear Michelle,
I just called you and left a voicemail, but you must be at work. I ask you, how am I supposed to book a flight to see you in a month if I can't ask the questions on my mind? And that's not one of the questions I was going to ask.
But, really, you should feel loved because flying to Texas, by myself, is not something I would do for just anybody. It's kind of like driving four hours as a surprise, on a whim, after a mere 30 minutes of packing. Whiiiiiiiiich means this is the second time you've inspired this home-body to do something relatively crazy! You're welcome.
Oh, and perhaps you've noticed I haven't blogged anything for days, either? Yeah, I haven't had the time or the energy between taping/painting and being driven into a deep depression at the site of my home. It seriously has crossed that special line between clutter and filth, and it's all I can do not to break down and hire a professional to finish the flooring AND a maid to clean afterward. There's old mail, paint-filled rags, cardboard and plastic jugs which haven't made it to the recycling bin, tools everywhere, and not a single piece of furniture in the correct spot.
Yet, here I am, taking the time to write my best friend. Yes, indeed, feel special. And don't get the idea that I'm simply hiding here in computer land to escape that drowning sensation. I've only been online for two and a half hours....
Okay, okay, I'll stop the guilt trip. (Trip! Get it?!)
I mean, this is going to be a fun adventure south of the Mason-Dixon--regardless of any nervousness I feel. And everybody should be a little crazy before they have kids, right? (This is not the time to point out that taking a plane trip is not, technically, the definition of crazy.) But I want you to know I'm looking forward to it, and that--should you choose to move to Texas--I would prepare myself to take this journey many more times in the future. Just for you.
Don't move to Texas.
Call me soon so we can proceed with this unusual conversation. I think I've taken the dialog as far as it will go, acting as both parties. And that's not good if I hope to continue my avoidance behavior. I'd appreciate if you dial and hit "send" just before I take the lid off the paint can. Please? It's the least you could do since....you know. :)
With anticipation for an actual chat,
~ME~
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