the remedy.

In an attempt to break my writer's block I am blogging. To anyone who would rather have a root canal than write, it may sound like an oxymoron. But it has been known to work for me.

So if I ramble a bit, like I usually do, at least I have an excuse.

When I got home from school in December I started reading again. I mean, reading for my own enjoyment. Textbooks don't count. Recently the bookworm in me has crawled back into the damp earth, because usually by the time I am able to sit down and totally relax I would rather get online and talk with friends, or flip on the TV because I'm too braindead to do anything else.

I was home by myself for a couple of days late last month, and that was when I picked up the last book I read. Whether you like Bill O'Reilly or not, his memoir, "A Bold Fresh Piece of Humanity," is really interesting. I agree with him most of the time, though, so I'm probably just biased.

Things have gotten weird since I finished that book, however, and the next one I'd planned to read is still lying (laying? my grammar is sketchy sometimes) on my bedroom floor, unopened. Family issues, stress over my job situation and some minor concerns in my personal life would normally have me on emotional overload. But I've found that in some ways I have run out of the energy necessary to really care. I mean, I do care to an extent. I care about doing a good job at work. I care about serving God and being with the people I love. But maybe I am taking on too much lately. Maybe that is part of my problem.

Or maybe I'm just disorganized and somewhat irresponsible. And maybe I'm still using that as a crutch for why I never follow through on things.

This would explain why I am sitting in my room, surrounded by small mountains of discarded but clean clothing and other paraphernalia. In my bathroom closet is a laundry basket that is filled to capacity. My Bible is waiting patiently but forlornly upstairs in the TV room.

I guess that next book will just have to wait until I can get my act together.