Vapor Lock
2005-06-30, 4:11 p.m.

Yesterday�s dilemma solved. I will do what I always do, which is to procrastinate until dark, then work myself into a hysterical frenzy/nervous breakdown. The best motivator is large quantities of adrenaline coupled with small quantities of sleep, lumped with generous dollops of stress. Skip the defibrillator and just go for the jumper cables, �k? I honed that technique in college. Spending weeks on research and/or dutifully pacing studies always garnered me a lower grade. Spewing forth a term paper in a manic all-nighter? An A, every time. I am the queen of the Magna Cum Lastminute.

Even in my classroom, lessons were better when I eschewed a few lesson plans in favor of seat-of-your-pants teaching. The kids were more involved and motivated and simply learned more. Energy and creativity flowed freely because, hello? Stress. And there is no greater stress than the very lives of a flock of six-year-olds hanging on whether or not they exit your classroom literate and with basic math skills.

It would help if I would lower my living standards and not be so OCD about the house. �Clean house� means �It�s ready for the photo shoot.� I scrub doorknobs, people. No, I am not all right.

They say stress kills. Stick a fork in me, I�m done.

Daughter and her friend are trying to coax life back into a bottle of Mountain Don�t. It�s been in the fridge long enough that I ain�t taking a sip. We are out of soft drinks, using up groceries so things don�t spoil while we�re away. The Mountain Don�t must be deceased, because now they�re heading two doors down to the friend�s house for a drink. THAT�S going to look good with that kid�s mom, my child having to go to their house for a beverage. She will probably lay it on and beg for some food while she�s at it, and then not understand when social services shows up to whisk her and her brother away from the deadbeat parents who starve them. Our house is full of food, but it�s food nobody wants to eat, or condiments, the stuff at the dark recesses of the pantry that nobody can ever, ever bring themselves to cook. I just ate a tuna sandwich with Old Bay sprinkled on it because Old Bay seasoning can make tennis shoes and grass clippings into gourmet fare. We�re leaving in the morning. I am not grocery shopping for one day. They can have a bowl of sweet pickle relish, pile on the Old Bay, and call it good. And hitting the drive through? That takes cash, something else I never have on hand.

I have to take procrastination to a new level in order to inspire motivation. Don�t stop me, I�m on a roll. Children will be fed, eventually.

We can�t leave for the beach until butt crack of dawn tomorrow. Hubby�s work needed him to, um, work and stuff, so he can�t take the afternoon off.

Spell check had �butt crack�. Don�t you ever wonder about the people that are in charge of Spell Check Content? There are some warped minds in that division. I would so love to work there.

I took a moment to check out today�s headlines. Stop the presses! Interrupt the broadcasts! It is MAJOR MAJOR NEWS that Michael Jackson is vacationing in Bahrain. Billions of events everywhere, every moment, but rounding off the top 5 is Wacko Jacko and his fashionable pets children are hobnobbing with some sheik? I think the public would be better informed of real current events if we went back to carrier pigeon or pony express. To their credit, it wasn�t a Tom Cruise bulletin, because that guy is in serious need of a personality transplant and paparazzi extracation. I�m just sayin�. MJ may be the I Have Issues poster boy, but he has the decency to leave us all no doubt that something is very, very wrong there. Tommy boy jumps around screeching and doing soft core porn on the red carpet with Lolita and expects an adoring public to do a mass lemming and follow him into Scient0logy. Beat it, creep.

And Scient0logy? Don�t you wish you could have been in on THIS conversation?
Agent to L. Ron Hubb@rd: �Your book sucks, but if you market things right, you *could* start a new religion.�
B-list author: �Well, alrighty then.�
And the idiots with large wallets followed.
I have respect for other religions and beliefs and faiths, but not this one. Pull a deity out of your behind, it�ll be more plausible than this crap.

Farther down on the happy news front, this bunch must have known GolfWidow was coming.

Read a book day before yesterday, not something in which I engage weekly because I am a VERY impatient reader. Once I begin a book, under penalty of death, do. Not. Interrupt. Me. So, I readandreadandreadandreadandread but it�s small stuff, Mtv generation word bites, because I seldom have a big chunk o�time to devote to a whole book at one sitting. (Yes, I read fast. Very fast. But still.) But I ran across a lil ol� book in the library which sucked me in for two hours with glee. It�s Boo by Rene Gutteridge, the tale of a horror writer who finds religion, falls for the town good girl, swears off writing horror novels, and the town residents plot to make him a backsliding sinner so he will continue writing and foster the town�s tourism. Cute and funny and quietly inspirational without being in-yer-face Jesus. Christian I am, beat you over the head with it I will not, nor do I like being beaten. I�m going to check out the sequel, Boo Who, and hope they have the third, Boo Hiss.

Pantry Procrastination is in a death duel with Desire For Chocolate Milkshake. The milkshake�s winning. Drive thru, here I come.

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