I know, I'm a bad blogger.
I also haven't been reading the blogs I usually check on a daily basis, because... well, I forget. And too much computer time gives me a headache, whether I'm lying in bed or not.
Why haven't I been writing?
Well, there's not a whole heck of a lot going on, these days. I write, I run one or two errands each day, I get myself lunch, sometimes (but other times it's cereal for me), and then I scratch good old Major Tom (who is very lazy, this winter, and is almost constantly lying on his bed in the living room).
I don't want to blog constantly about my health problems, although this space has sort of become a clearinghouse for 'what's wrong with me today.' I feel kind of whiny when all I blog about is my health, and I'm sure it's not very interesting, and is possibly distressing, and the last thing I want to have in my already super-guilt-riddled-for-no-good-reason mind is the added guilt of causing my readers - who are mostly family and friends, and a couple of people of whom I have no knowledge (Bangladesh, what up?) - to worry about me.
Example of guilt-ridden Ms. Strainedconsciousness: A couple of years ago, a harmless garter snake was on my parents' back patio. I flipped out and killed it, and it took longer than I'd thought it would to actually kill the thing. I've felt awful about it ever since for depriving the harmless little snake of its life.
A couple of days ago, there was a snake in my parents' kitchen (um, I'm living with the folks, since I can't really take care of myself right now. I'm a toddler all over again... but a toddler who's paying rent on an unused apartment). Instead of killing it and smushing its little serpentine brains out, I put on garden gloves and carried it outside, flinging it into the yard to go about its happy little life.
The snake was maybe 5 inches long, cold (so lethargic, kind of like Major Tom), black, and had a slightly triangular head.
It was a baby water moccasin.
Guess what? I didn't kill it. +5 points for me. It's a water moccasin and might 1) re-enter our home at some point and kill us all in the night and/or cause abject terror; 2) it could kill Major Tom while he's in the backyard "powdering his nose." So -475 points.
More guilt. It's an issue. And occasionally, someone will chide me for feeling so damn guilty all the time and... then I feel guilty about feeling guilty.
Vicious cycle, people. Vicious cycle.
Almost as vicious as a water moccasin a.k.a. cottonmouth. But not nearly as deadly.