I would just like to state for the record, which may possibly end up being a medical one, that when I started this blog, there was definitely some semblance of sense to it. I was trying to find a picture and a quote to show how close to losing my mind I am. But in the process, I found this picture and it made me laugh, and then I found this quote and it also made me laugh. Usually I like to have the two sort of go together, and the entry itself to carry on the theme, but the closest tie I can find is that goats produce milk.
Oh well. I guess a blog entry about me losing my mind should be somewhat nonsensical.
So I'm losing my mind. Or at least coming very close to doing so.
I still don't know about Playmill. They were supposed to let us know by today sometime, but everyone's still waiting. The strain is really beginning to wear on my nuerosis. Does that even make sense? Yes I say it does. So if I'm cast in Playmill, they'll let us know by way of phone call. My heart's all tired because every time the phone rang this weekend, it's done a somersault. AND there's a rumor that some mysterious person wants to ask me on a date, which would be more than fine with me, especially if my roomates' hypotheses are correct, so with that knowledge, my heart does TWO somersaults for every ring of the phone. Hopefully I'll know the outcome of at least one of those things by tomorrow. Keep you posted. In the meantime, here's to another day of cardiac acrobatics.
It's one in the morning. I hate to bother you all with my self-centered rantings. So I think I'll try and go to sleep. Perhaps one day after I've cracked, psychologists the world over can study this last wavering chunk of written insanity and try to figure out what went wrong, and then use it to cure other patients.
Albert Einstein is attributed with once saying that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. I think that's true. Like checking the Playmill website over and over again and expecting to actually see the cast list posted.
Goats and wine? Goats in a tree? Coincidence? I think we're on to something, here!
ReplyDeleteTake deep breaths and give yourself a high-five for me (this may look very much like clapping once).
All I can tell you is to think of a bombay beauty in a tight black dress and then ask her to bring you another beer. I got this feeling, it's so apealing. . .that what is in store for you will be wonderful. Good luck Liz! (Could you call the white house and have a chat)
ReplyDeleteI hope the comment made sense to at least you, because I just looked at it and it is driving me bannanas with how random it is.
ReplyDeleteIt made perfect sense to me, Ella! Hey Willie, that giving myself a high-five thing turned out to be so satisfying that I decided to do it a few more times. Give it a try.
ReplyDeleteWhy just a quart? I like to buy my milk by the gallon. Besides, I would never let my mind go to the store for milk. Milk is not as important as other things, like chocolate or diaper bags. I don't know. But I miss you a lot, and hope that you can come soon to see the show.
ReplyDeleteGasp! This rapidfire self-high-fivin's amazing! Genius!
ReplyDelete*clapclapclapclapclapclap*