1. Surf the Internet: Nothing gets done! There are too many friends to catch up with on your blog. Too many cool videos to see on your home page. Too many people IMing you.

2. Listen to music. Another great Time Waster. You turn on some songs for “inspiration.” Then an hour goes by because you were “inspired.”

3. Start another writing project. You can always get back to your story.

4. Read a book. You need more inspiration!

5. Call your friends on the phone. Make plans to go out tonight. The writer’s life is so isolating!

Here's a little something I whipped up using Google Images, a scanner, and MS Paint. It's my parody of mainstream women's magazines. I hope it gives y'all a grin. 


 

 Just for today, BozoBrain turned into a cute, peaceful little pug puppy and gives all her readers a kiss on the nose. I'm celebrating a happy, anger-free day.

I did another Anger Workout, but I just wasn't into it. I had nothing to give. I had the day off work today, so not seeing any old ladies did wonders for my mood.

In honor of this fine fellow, also the subject of today's entry, I am listening to - what else? - Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven. 

Pathetic attempts at coolness aside, the reason I put in an image of the hermit is because sometimes, given the madness, violence and frantic pace of the 21st century, sometimes I wish I could just pack up my wireless Internet connection, go off somewhere and be a hermit. I'd take a million books with me, two of every animal to survive the 40 day and 40 night flood - wait, wrong story. But seriously, folks. 

The reason behind this lament is that sometimes I just don't want to deal with people. Sometimes I get sick of sharing the same planet with my fellow humans. There are times I dream of going Gilligan and living on a deserted island. Now these thoughts scare me, because my mother was a house-bound agoraphobic. She had panic attacks if she left the house. She insisted on never leaving the house. She lived the last 20 years of her life without leaving the house. 

Thankfully, I am not agoraphobic. I can leave my little apartment any time I want. I don't have panic attacks. But there are days where I just wish I could not go outside. Granted, I have to work like everyone else, and run errands and deal with people. But as I whined earlier, sometimes I just don't want to deal with people. The older I get, the lower my opinion of humanity sinks. 

If I had the wealth, I'd never go out of the apartment. I'd stay inside reading and writing all day. Ah, bliss! 

I shudder to think that maybe there is more of my poor old mother in me than I care to admit. Maybe I am becoming my mom. 
But then, Mom never had the Internet, the hermit's refuge in an uncaring world. 

I recently started doing Anger Workouts to help me with my anger problem. During the workouts, I take a child's padded toy bat and pound my bed's mattress and pillows like a madwoman while cursing like a sailor. It really helps me calm down after a bad day. 
Another thing that helps is to turn up the radio loud, bury my face in a pillow and scream at the top of my lungs. It always clears my head. 
I am also proud to announce that this geezer has re-discovered punk rock. Now that I'm getting in touch with my long-surpressed anger, I love pounding the hell out of my bed to old Sex Pistols or Ramones tunes. I also love new bands like Green Day and Bowling for Soup, but I don't know if the punk community considers them "punk rock", or if they are "posers", or whatever the 14 year-olds say is cool these days.  Anyway, I like them, and that's all that matters. And I am glad I found a way to let out my viperous vitriol without hurting someone else. 

Adam Sandler was wrong: Anger Management Rocks!