|August 24, 2006|
Boy, do I feel out of touch. Where have I been? Crushed under huge amounts of stress and deadlines.
It's always sad to me that The Grub Report is the first to suffer when I get over-extended, over-scheduled, and over-achievalicious, but it doesn't pay me, so, well, it has to take a back seat to meal tickets. I've been recapping Top Chef in the vain hope of getting Television Without Pity ready for season two (which will take place in LA! Los No-Eat-geles! The nerve.), writing and researching for Cowgirl Creamery, KQED, Chow, etc. and traveling. So much for my quiet summer, people. The thing I look forward to most is slipping my battered mind and body into my bed and becoming completely insensible. On a side note, I've concluded that freshly-laundered sheets that, by virtue of their freshly-laundered state, negate the need for ceremonial swipe-kicking to shoo all the crumbly crap off to the side, feel even better than freshly-shaved-legs sheets.
Happily, I will be taking off for Hawaii soon, and smelling the hibiscus, surfing the waves, snorkling the...snorkles will be very good for my soul, I'm sure, but then FALL happens and it just starts all over again. I wonder if there are foods you can eat that make the acid reflux actually taste good...
Anyway, once again I've stress-balled myself into recurring pain in my side and finally saw a doctor about it. So far, nothing out of the ordinary is causing this weird pain, but more annoying tests will follow. When I have the time. Meanwhile, with the intensity of this free-wheeling, freelance lifestyle, I have had to cut way back on my hours at Ye Olde Stanke Cheeseshoppe to, well, nothing at this point. It's sad because it is the one place that I can step way away from my computer and interact with the three-dimensional people.
I swear the only thing keeping me sane is runs at Ocean Beach, Tim Gunn's podcast, and reruns of Reba. That's right, people, I said Reba!
The stress has made me sink so, so low.