Just Another MoGilly Monday

I’m feeling completely useless today. Devoid of all ambition and drive. For an hour, I’ve been sitting here staring at the computer screen. Staring at the phone. Staring out the door of my office, spittle dangling precariously from my bottom lip. How long can I let it hang before…shoot.

I’m coming to grips with the fact that I might not be a people person. I don’t want anyone to walk through my door. I don’t want to help anyone. I just want to write and be left alone.

The problem with committing myself to writing, as with any endeavor in which I attempt to commit, lies the simple undeniable truth that I possess the attention span of a freebasing 3-year-old with a wicked Mountain Dew habit. And though some might want to take the time to conjur up a visual on that, I’m already on to another thought.

My sister. I’m losing her. I’m losing her to her busy, professional life. I’m losing her to her kid’s activities and her over-indulgent social calendar. But most of all I feel disconnected from my sister because she has not kept herself up-to-date on the plight of the American Idol hopeful.

I want to call my sister and talk to her about David Cook’s last performance. I want her to get indignant with me over Carly Smithson’s untimely ouster. I want to fantasize about slapping that goofy grin off Jason Castro’s face and know that I’m in a safe place where I won’t be judged. But instead I get, “I didn’t watch it.”

"Who are you?”

So here I am, a useless excuse for a human being. Depleted of any intellectual stimuli. Missing my sister, who’s probably at work right now, helping someone or accomplishing something.

Suck-up.

So, Amy, if you’re reading this…Call me Tuesday at 9/8 central. Here, for your viewing pleasure, is the incomparable, David Cook.