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Zen and the Art of Not Fucking It Up

An uncharacteristically smooth and uneventful week for my humours—partly the reason I haven’t been able to generate a blog. When everything seems pretty well stabilized, you don’t want to go hyper-focusing on one thing and throwing everything off balance.

Basically, the less involved my conscious brain is, the better. Don’t want to go waking that shit up.

(Pretty much the opposite of the times when I’m bogged down in something and try to haul myself out by blogging about a different topic entirely. Or other times, when I figure if I’m that deep already, might as well just keep digging.)

In fact, I was just talking with McD about mental corrective measures yesterday—how “Arguing With Assholes in my Head” has become a sort of consciousness shock-collar for me, something that pops into my head when I find myself mentally playing out an argument that has little to no basis in reality. All of a sudden, Tom Lehr’s silly, soaring melody pops in, with those words—something so irreverent and fun and accurate.

It’s worked pretty well, actually. Like smacking a dog on the nose every time it starts to go for the dinner table. Would be fun to think that my brain is finally making progress in its obedience training.

Do I sound schizophrenic here? Eh, at least we’re getting along.

Among this week’s pleasant-but-not-disruptively-so occurrences:

Fantasy football win. Damn near lost by .02 points (which probably would’ve been enough to throw this week off-kilter from the get-go), but pulled it out thanks to a single-point post-interception tackle by Lance Moore. So at least he’s good for something.

Long-procrastinated work assignments completed. Should’ve been done a month ago, which makes them even more stressful—what started out as so simple I didn’t have to worry about them turned into seemingly impossible tasks (because why couldn’t I get them done?). The upside: Way more relief than was really warranted.

The beautiful combination of wide sidewalks, a bicycle, and Audible. Tina Fey is going to be solely responsible for getting me back into shape.

Regular thunderstorms.

Wine and coworkers in a bayfront back yard. Boss-hosted party with homemade Indian food and odd (and only occasionally off-putting) writers and editors.

Another team trivia night to look forward to. Team Aiming for Third is probably going to need another name. And more correct answers.

Progress on my puzzle. (Hey, point is: It’s the little things.)

A calm, obligation-free Friday. A spontaneous lunch outing with McD, a triple-grande mocha, a blog in the books, and a beautiful expanse of unfettered, football-filled weekend to gaze out upon.

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