Constipation

It's been strange days. It started when I landed a new job and began my elaborate post-it note and scrap paper filing system in a completely new office. I may be the only woman whose professional success depends largely on my ability to remember what small piles not to use as a coaster for my morning tea.

My boss is fantastic. My co-workers are nice. My keyboard doesn't stick -- and this was just the beginning of the weirdness. Driving away from work today I felt...content.

Holy shit. Now I knew what the problem was. For days and days now, I couldn't think of a single thing to write about. Normally the urge to sit down and start writing is so strong that if it cost money I'd be out knocking off convenience stores just to stay on top of it. And then...nothing

It's not as if all of my urges went away. Strawberry-rhubarb crumble? Eaten. New orange purse? Purchased. Posting to blog? Do I have any of that crumble left...?

It's also not as if there is absolutely nothing wrong in my life. In fact, work may be the only thing that is going really well if I had to think about it. In no particular order...

• I discovered my former boyfriend's cat managed to piss on my favourite pair of sandals at some point before I left (read: fled). They stink, and I can't for the life of me get the smell out. I will not throw out these shoes, because I love them and I hate that cat. The cat must not win.
• I've fallen off the WeightWatchers wagon so hard, I have road rash where others have smooth thighs.
• My Mom keeps phoning me to update me on anybody and everybody she knows or has vaguely heard of who is planning a wedding and finally...
• I may have fallen very hard for a guy who is so religious he's vowed to be celibate until marriage, and we're not engaged. Frustrating. We had time to make that commitment, and I was willing. Our first date lasted eight hours, but I'm losing hope for a second. It's significantly disrupting my plans for our honeymoon.

You would think this list would be enough to inspire me to write something. Anything. Instead, I've been walking to my car every afternoon, slipping my shades on, driving home to the radio and thinking about how damned lucky I am.

Don't worry about me -- it can't possibly last. Something is going to break through my happy glaze and I'll fall atop my keyboard. It's probably going to be the cat piss that does it -- those are some powerfully toxic strappy wedges.