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Operator Error on Lame Post Friday

So it seems I could not even make a Friday Lame Post yesterday.  In my defense, I was stretched out on the couch, trying to hold perfectly still, unable to do anything but have an upset stomach.  In my defense, I managed to function all day at work with an upset stomach and a headache.  In my detriment, when my stomach and head felt better after work, I proceeded to eat good food without reference as to whether it might be upsetting to a tender tummy.

I really did not think I was going too rich.  I avoided the usual suspects: deep-fried, pepperoni, sausage…  I did not even think I was overeating, but apparently I was.  Yes, as with most of my ills, the problem was Operator Error ( my predictive text thingy even guess “Error” as soon as I typed “Operator”).

So here I sit prior to six on a Saturday morning, mostly delighted I do not have to work today and partly suspicious of what my coffee will do to my stomach.  The latter is of no particular concern, however, because coffee is obviously necessary, whatever the consequences.

I threatened on Thursday to make a blog post about what a big baby I am (a Big Fat Baby Brat, according to Steven, but that is a different story). Instead, I have made yet another post wherein I proved I am a big baby.  No matter.  As usual, I shall hit Publish and hope for the best.

By the way, I think the coffee IS doing me dirt.  Damn.

 

The More You Complain, the Lamer the Blog Post

Now my stomach is giving me grief!  I just sat here, staring at the blank “Add New Post” screen, thinking, I CAN’T have three blogger’s sick days in a row!  But apparently I can.  For one reason, I do not want to do two posts tomorrow.  I have a busy day planned.  Yes, wine is involved, judge me if you life, I do not at all care.

I had one of the best dinners I have had in a while at my Mom and Dad’s house.  I think I ate a little too much.  Or something else might be going on.  My stomach has, in fact, been giving me grief off and on all week.  I just haven’t complained about it in this space, because, quite frankly, I have been complaining about everything else and just had not gotten to it. My older sister, Victoria, told me that the more you complain, the longer God lets you live.

How hard can it be to make a post on Lame Post Friday anyways?  A couple of random observations, some half-baked philosophy, and hit publish.  My random observation is:  I have not been writing enough, but I have been obsessed with doing puzzles.  Pencil puzzles, like crosswords, cryptograms, etc.  My half-baked philosophy is that I probably like the puzzles because they occupy my mind and keep me from thinking about things.  Who wants to spend time thinking about things?  Not me!

Oh, my stomach is really, really upset.  I need to stretch out, and I cannot type lying down.  Suddenly this seems like Wrist to Forehead Friday:  I will swoon onto my couch (I don’t have a chaise lounge) in a manner most dramatic, and hope to be better in time to make a Scattered Saturday post.

 

Stomach-ache at Suiter House

I’m sitting here wondering if my upset stomach is due to the piece of leftover pizza I had for lunch or to nervousness about tonight’s murder mystery.  It feels more like a pizza upset stomach, quite frankly, but one cannot completely discount pre-performance butterflies.

As more astute readers will have guessed, this is going to be another foolish post.  However, since I often have foolish posts before a theatrical performance (oh, OK, and the rest of the time too), I think I will be forgiven. And if not, oh well, I will just have to live with the disapproval.

The murder mystery, in case you didn’t read about it in a previous blog post, is Secrets at Suiter House, to benefit the Herkimer County Historical Society.  I think it is one of my better scripts, but perhaps I flatter myself.  I have an excellent cast assembled.  I know they will do a marvelous job.  I dare to include myself in that confidence.  Accuse me of tooting my own horn if you like, but I maintain that there are worse things than having an ego the size of Manhattan, especially for an actor.

Is my ego the size of Manhattan?  I’m sure these things are difficult to measure.  I certainly have ego enough to set my foolish words afloat into the blogosphere (there’s a silly word) and trust some people will be entertained by them.  I have ego enough to write a murder mystery and present it to a room full of people, trusting that they will be entertained.

And yet I sit here with my stomach roiling, saying to myself, “What the hell am I thinking?”  I guess a gigantic ego does not always translate into a plethora of self-confidence.  Never mind.  Overconfidence is a dangerous thing, and sometimes nerves are a good sign.  So I say, break a leg, me.

Maybe I’ll try the effects of some ginger tea on my stomach.