Having been on the “student” end of things and knowing how difficult it can be to recruit participants, I didn’t hesitate to take the survey. I grabbed my coffee, sat down, and went to it. Actually completed it in record time and then thought nothing of it.
At least that was during the morning hours. Then as I was going about my busy day, niggling thoughts began swirling around in my head, thoughts prompted by some of the questions that had been posed in the survey.
I know first hand the complexities of creating a survey, and how it can seem almost impossible to compose a non-leading question. I’m not criticizing the design of the survey at all … I’m just having a harder look at how I answered it.
Later that evening while the kids were making pizza with their Dad, I was finalizing the last parts of my mammoth hair post (all that scanning and loading, Blogger not co-operating…). In between loading I was chopping up peppers and helping out with the toppings when I could, but honestly, my blog post was my priority. Ian then says to me “Stop blogging!” So I went to work on more peppers, but to my absolute dismay, tears began welling up and I think it was clear from my body language and my frenzied chopping, that I was not a happy camper. Ian came up behind me to ask me what was wrong, giving me a hug, which of course just let it all loose …
“This is all I have that is my VERY OWN!”
Which isn’t exactly true, but I can be a drama-mama like the best of them, a whoa-is-me chicka-dee when the timing’s right. Or more like PMS’ing in a major way.
This is what happens when I think myself into a frenzy. But somedays, it really does feel like it's my one place, the one stop in this crazy world that is just for me, myself and I.
After my momentary lapse of sanity, we had a lovely dinner. I then headed out to pick up some last minute things for the Easter weekend meals (I always forget that ONE IMPORTANT ingredient). At the supermarket, as I stood in line to pay, I watched as a father and his son unloaded their groceries onto the belt in front of me. I noticed this woman standing next to me rapidly flipping through one of the celebrity rags.
Just as it was my turn to load my groceries, the woman shrieked and ran hurriedly in front of me, furiously trying to reshelve the magazine she was reading, while pulling at another, featuring the most unbecoming photo of a pregnant Lisa Marie Presley feeding her face. Her husband looked up in alarm and asked her what the problem was. She shouted "Presley, ooh Lisa Marie, looks so BAD". Her husband looked at me very sheepishly , as I tried not too successfully to contain some giggles.
So I guess my life could be worse... I could be addicted to blogging AND deliriously hooked on celebrity trash.
Your lights are on, but you're not home
Your mind is not your own
Your heart sweats, your body shakes
Another post, is what it takes
You can't sleep, you can't eat
There's no doubt, you're in deep
Your throat is tight, you can't breathe
Another post is all you need
Whoa, you like to think that you're immune to the stuff, oh yeah
It's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough, you know you're
Gonna have to face it, you're addicted to ...
(thanks to Robert Palmer for inspiration)