Boy, do I suck at doing nothing. Take last Saturday, for example. I drifted about the house waiting for some cue to begin my day. The desk and the kitchen were taken, and I was feeling just a little bitter about my known activity prospects for the day--sheet washing, filing, lunch. Ugh.
Frankly, I was having a little pity party. It all started on Friday while I was doing laundry. My new loungewear pants, whose receipt was of course thrown away, had achieved a ridiculous sock-baring shortness during their time in the dryer. This disappointment came on the heels of obsessive blog reading during which I realized that I don't have comments or a community like the popular girls.
Ever taken ill in that swift way that boggles the mind? Just been driving home and, in minutes, been overcome by a wave of bad feeling, and just like that, you're sick? Well, that's what happened to me there at the dryer. Like blood sugar dropping, the event was entirely internal. No one looking at me would ever have known. But I did. I had been hit with a case of Loser-itis.
In case you've never heard of Loser-itis, allow me to explain. Loser-itis is a disorder in which one suffers general feelings of worthlessness accompanied by slumping energy levels which exacerbate the feelings of worthlessness. I suppose it's a mild form of depression caused by awareness of the Great Yardstick in the Sky--or whatever it is that indicates that you are here and other people are there, and you aren't making it from here to there very quickly, if at all. Onset is often caused by adverse life circumstances but can be quite random. Basically, you suddenly feel like a loser. Thus the common name of this psychological malady.
I would say that Loser-itis is inherited (I'm pretty sure that it's rampant in my family), but my mate suffers from it, too, and his parents seem absolutely untouched by any such dis-ease. Maybe it's a random mutation on the happiness gene in some individuals. Whatever the case, I come down with it regularly, though not as regularly as I used to, and I've worked very hard to minimize outbreaks and recover more quickly. I usually just recognize that a flare-up is occurring, give myself a little emotional TLC, and go on living anyway. Symptoms most often subside shortly. Some particularly bad days end with a small amount of eye seepage, but most incidences resolve quickly and without medication.
But what if I'm not alone? Maybe there are other sufferers out there unknown to me. If so, I could do the world a great service and start a support group. We could call it LA--Loser's Anonymous. (Hi, my name is Ann, and I've been a loser for most of my life.) Who knows how many victims are out there praying for relief, while feeling as if they are the only one. There may be at least three of us. We need to help each other.
But then I might have to hold meetings at my house, and, well--I don't currently have one. We're living with my husband's parents right now. Oh, lord, maybe we really are losers. I think I feel another attack coming on.
Or maybe I'm crazy, and I should just return the shrunken pants and stop reading blogs!