Hello, you have reached the summer of our discontent.

I seriously bruised the top and side of my foot while dancing at my friend's wedding this weekend,* and therefore the gym is out of the question for a few days, which means I get to imbibe tonight and share the following alcohol-related story with you, dear reader.

Sometime over the weekend, on one of my 6 plane rides to and from Puerto Rico, I read that a scary proportion of my generation has declared themselves an alcoholic and sought treatment, and most of them did it around age 30. (I think I read it in Blender, or maybe it was the US Air magazine, I'm not really sure - either way it was surely a credible journal.)

And NO BLOODY WONDER, I tell ya. Half a year into 32 and if this is all there is, count me out. Of course, you could go by the sentiment of the bar in Old San Juan:


But I'm not sure that's the answer either.

I don't think I have EVER dreaded going to work as much as I did this morning. I think I'm realizing that all jobs suck and mine especially sucks right now and this is all I have to look forward to for the next 32.5 years. I spent the 6 plane rides also trying to think of a job I would actually enjoy doing, and came up with basically nothing, except for maybe veterinarian if not for the chemistry.

It's not even the wedding thing, which normally bums me out - I've been to 2 in the span of 7 days and they were both lovely, and I didn't get sad at either. It's just that there must be more to life than working 8-10 hours a day, 5 days a week, and only having 2 days to enjoy yourself and 2 weeks vacation to see the GINORMOUS world around us.

I'm sure that most of this negativity has to do with seeing this 3 nights in a row...


...and then coming back to the stark reality of a crappy job and a loud fucking cat with hairballs and ridiculous bills and stupid people and George Bush (it all comes back to him, eh?) and just wishing I could sit on that beach for another 45 years and then die a happy death.

I really need to find a way to not work. And get exercise through manual labor versus running on a machine. And still be able to eat. (I'll eat ramen, twigs and berries, roadkill - I don't care.) I just don't want to work. EVER. AGAIN. I want to be closer to nature than I am, I want to be away from city life and all of the crime and muggings at gunpoint and panhandling and neon and chain restaurants and dirt and grime that go along with it (but still close enough to city life that I can get good Thai food when I want it, natch). I want to camp and swim in the river and watch the stars at night.

I don't want to be a soccer mom, I don't need a man or a kid or even this loud fucking cat and her hairballs right now. I need technology only when I want to download new music and watch DVDs and recharge shit. I need contact with people only when I want contact with people. I need the sound of waves crashing and frogs/birds/crickets/cicadas chirping and I need to get rid of this pink wedding nail polish on my fingers and toes before it drives me batty.

I really hope that this funk passes soon. I think I've hit my regular 3-year cycle of lowest of lows (last one was at 29, before that 26, 23, 20, 17... so the timing seems right... although sometimes I wonder if it's a self-fulfilling prophecy at this point) and all will be right with my world soon enough. In the meantime, forgive me if I don't return your calls or emails.

And to end on a less-than-sour note, I bring you Mini Me. (Is anyone other than me waiting for the "I Can Has Cheezburger in Paradise" post?)

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* I really have no idea. Just to round out this AA post, I'd had a sangria, a whiskey, a champagne and approximately three (give or take) glasses of wine over the course of about 3 hours when it happened. It was either during the Elvis song, or the big hair 80's montage, or the song that was much like the Macarena only it was not the Macarena but was more like a weird version of the Electric Slide mixed with a little Hokey Pokey (kewpie doll to the reader who can identify that song).

Luckily I quit drinking way before we hit the blackjack tables a few hours later, so I lasted for two hours at the table on a mere $20, at $5 a bet - pretty impressive for a novice.