"He's fine on the inside…"-Jonas

Oh, what pressure!!

I couldn't have said it better myself. I didn't say it though. CoolFriend said it in response to my panic. The clock said 2:30 and I hadn't even started my blog.

GAA! My reader will hate me!

The hater list is already much longer than the reader list. When I get time I should work on that. Do a little glad-handing. Caulk some gaps; bridge some chasms; refresh my metaphor list... When I get time.

See, that's the problem. Whenever we find ourselves in crisis, like say…I don't know…a divorce, we wrap ourselves in the mummy bandage of work. Any ghosts that tap on our shoulder aren't even felt through the thick gauze and Epoxy resin.

"Hey Rob, I'm a trip you took on you Anniv—"

"No time, too busy."

"But what about these mental snapshots, if you can just glmpse how happ—"

"Sorry, I'm blogging"

"Now?"

"No."

Now?"

"No."

"Now…?"

They're persistent ghosts, but eventually they will get bored and go pester the guy next door.

"Hey honey, I just had the weirdest memory of a beach I've never been to."

"That's nice dear."

"No it was like I was really there. Oh, there it is again. What am I wearing? Oh my—a tangerine Speedo! Oh, my eyes! My eyes!"

Yeah, memory ghosts are personal and shouldn't wander the neighborhood without supervision. I'm too busy. I give the ghosts a cookie and tell them to go stay in the street. They usually do.

Here's the problem though. When the wounds have healed, you find the bandage resin has adhered itself to your flesh. You can't remove it. I'm healed, and I'm too busy to do anything about it but lumber around looking for ghosts and mumbling mummyspeak.

Where did that little wisp go?

I'm so busy working I can't unwrap myself and enjoy my new healthy Rob. Oh, he's all dressed up and ready to party, but he's standing in the closet (wrong image, let's move him to the pantry, ok?) with his hat and coat, but nobody to let him out. Oh I run by from time to time. I open the door. He's hung from a hook there, eating a Twinkie. I try to talk: make sure he knows I care. You know, say something like, "Sorry, too busy," or "I'm blogging." I don't have time to let him out.

So maybe I need help: some kind of work prevention intervention hooky group. They exist don't they? I haven't seen them since the last time they showed up with a keg in college. I think of parents with kids in my situation and I wonder how they make anytime at all. What do you do? How do you pull yourself out of the clo—pantry and make fun?

I emailed CoolFriend and got this reply:

Maybe I'll think...have to think on it on the way across campus and text it to you.

Apparently I'm not the only one too busy for a life.