...About ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. And do you know why? Because I have been without words for months. I mean, I went the entire month of April without posting words to The Chronicles because I had nothing to offer. And more than once I looked at Jason and was like, "I'm really going to shut it down this time," and he just rolled his eyes at me, which is his way of saying the following: you say that every 6 months; one day you'll regret that decision; please remember that you will receive phone calls from your mother about this; and for the love of god woman, quit interrupting me while I'm playing Angry Birds on my iPhone. And yes, you heard that right. One member of the Mathes Household has graduated to an iPhone. We never thought it would happen. Neither of us wanted to become the person at dinner with their head down surfing the Internet rather than interacting with the live human beings in our presence. And you all know what I am talking about BECAUSE THOSE PEOPLE HAVE BECOME UBIQUITOUS (and some of you may be one). You know, this person is completely ignoring everything you have to say and then suddenly comes to attention and interrupts a perfectly good conversation with the latest bit of news that they gathered on facebook, etc., as if they created that news themselves while sitting there metabolizing, and as if I really give a shit. Which I don't. I always kind of want to put a piece of chewed gum in that person's hair when they are not looking because you know what their behavior says to me? It says that I am not as important to them as the Internet is. And if that is the case, then just tell it to my face and let's not do dinner with each other ever again. I am a grown woman. I can handle the emotional sting of being told something that I already know is true in my heart. And I have Tolkein, fine European chocolate, a garden full of plants, and costume dramas to fill the void of whatever hole you leave in my soul because you love your electronics more than you love me.
And speaking of costume dramas: I think my obsession with them has gotten a bit out of control. Granted, I use them in the winter in place of antidepressants. I know, it's an unprescribed treatment, and I should be careful with stuff like that, but seriously, I know no better way of getting through the winter than spending it in the English countryside of the 1800s (or Middle-Earth, and yes, I did just finish the Silmarillion...for, like, the fifth time). But then spring rolled around and I thought I could move on to something else—say, coming of age movies from the 1980s—but lo and behold, Netflix, that enabler of bad habits, sent me something called Berkeley Square, and after watching the first four episodes (there are 10 in all), I could not stop thinking about it and wasn't sure I could wait until disc two arrived. But I decided to practice a virtue called Patience, and to my delight, disc two arrived in the mail Tuesday. So that night, Jason and I gathered on the couch for dinner and inserted disc two into the computer. We then waited, and we waited some more, and then we tried ejecting the disc and it refused to come out, and I would have been totally fine with that HAD THE DISC DECIDED TO PLAY, fools, but no, the disc never played and it refused to exit the machine. So of course I broke out into an anxiety-induced sweat and I might have said some mean things to my husband—shocking, I know—and when we finally got the disc to eject by restarting the computer, I went straight to the Netflix Web site to register for a replacement disc, which they said would be sent "immediately." And then I practiced a virtue called Hope, and I kept hoping all night for a knock on the door signaling the arrival of disc two—like when your luggage doesn't make the plane with you and they taxi it to your house in the middle of the night once it finally arrives. So I hoped and waited, but the knock never came. Apparently Netflix defines "immediately" as "Thursday," which I define as "Woman on the Verge."
And now you all realize why I quit writing in the first place: to save the souls of those of you who still check in on The Chronicles because no one wants to read about a sad, almost middle-aged, socially awkward woman who rambles on about her addiction to costume dramas. (Although apparently you just did, and for that I am truly sorry).
