I Have Completely Lost My Capacity for Making Decisions.

My body cannot take much more of this exhaustion. Every morning that I wake up to the sound of my phone's alarm, I think, "If it is really time to get out of bed I'll kill myself." The days are long and the nights are short, and my predominant feeling is one of constant pain.

I'm just...so...tired.

Nevertheless, I care about my blog, and the people who read it. So I will continue to post during this trying time, and hopefully reap the rewards [a readership who trusts me when I say I will write every weekday possible] later on in life.

Oh, I'll write; only I can't guarantee I'll be making any sense.

The good thing is, Thursday is here. And that means I get to answer a question--one of my favourite features here at Archives of Our Lives.

Q (from Loralee Choate):

How the hell and why do you have so many anonymous commenters? I read hundreds and hundreds of blogs and I've never seen such a high ratio.

What's the deal? Have they told you? Is it family that hates registering for things or something?

Finally (Because this would be how I feel):

Does this not drive you nutso? Have you considered turning the anonymous option off?

A (from me):

Oh, Loralee. Your query breeches the subject that is a constant issue among the inner echelon of Archives of Our Lives cronies. To allow, or not to allow? That is my great inner debate. Poor Kyle, he thinks I should not allow anonymous comments anymore. Ever. He gets as annoyed as you seem to be.

Me? I'm not so bugged. I mean, I like readers. I do. The fact that I seem to have a million who are sneaky and unwilling to own up to their true identity...well...I still like readers.

I don't know why I have so many. Maybe they're all one person; maybe they're 100 separate people.

I have considered removing the ability to allow anonymous comments--I consider it every day, and come to no conclusions.

So what's the skinny, everyone? I have completely lost my capacity to make decisions. I am numb from exhaustion this week, and I cannot--physically and mentally cannot--decide if I should do something about this, or leave it be.

You can leave your opinion in the comment section, or at the poll to the right.

I'd be much obliged.

Me and My Big Ideas.

Thank you to everyone who piped in on my one (and hopefully only) political post yesterday. I have enjoyed reading people's opinions, and I looked up--and investigated--every single link I was given. I feel more educated on the subject now than ever, and I've decided my choice must come down to what I value most in life...financial responsibility, or family matters. It seems like neither candidate will let me choose both.

Despite what many [or all] of you might think, I don't write posts like that just to stir up a little bit of loco in people's lives.

Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I do.

But I can almost swear never to get political again, on account of every time my phone rang yesterday, I answered it with great trepidation. I was just sure somebody with access to my number was going to really chew me out for going postal and signing up to be a Democrat (which I haven't, but I don't promise I won't make any rash decisions).

Which brings me to the topic of today. Rash decisions.

The most monumental rash decision I ever made was to move to Canada after my first year at ASU didn't go so well. It was monumental because it led me to meet Poor Kyle, and I can honestly say my life has never really been the same since. When I drove North to this country for the first time, and saw all the sights of Alberta, I had no idea the role this place would play in my future.

Here's me, not yet 19 years old, in the midst of said trip. So oblivious to the fact that the bridge I was admiring would soon become a feat of architecture I'd see almost daily.

Another rash decision I made was to pack my bags and become a nanny in French-speaking Belgium. I thought I knew the language, but I knew nothing. It was one of my life's most profound experiences, and I would not have changed it for anything.

I lived in a tower, and to get to my tower I had to climb this itty bitty winding staircase [which I soon discovered to be slippery when wearing socks]. I climbed it at least 10 times a day. There were 16 steps. It was the highlight of...well...it was just a highlight.

It was that voyage that taught me how to truly travel lightly, how to communicate with people in their home country, how to be independent...how to make it on my own. I was in Paris for a week...all by myself. On a "family" trip to Amsterdam, I woke up early one morning to see the Ann Frank House, and wandered through the streets with a map until I eventually got there. I did it. I have a huge sense of confidence (not indestructibility, just confidence) in myself because of all the opportunities I've had to see the world.

Oh, Paris. How I miss you.

And that brings me to my next topic: what if I had a travel blog, documenting all the places I've been or would like to go? Would you read it? Would that be boring? Would you groan at the thought of yet another blog you feel obligated to follow?

Hit me with your honest opinion--I can take it.

Nobody Scream, But I Might Just Be a Democrat.

I listened to talk radio (CNN and NPR, specifically) for the first real time in my life last week.

For over twelve hours.

I won't go into the details of the mental breakdown that isnpired me to do this, but I will say that it had something to do with a drive from Oregon to Canada, a Sirius satellite radio, and a husband who didn't like being ignored by a book-reading wife.

Who's recommendation was this? Thanks, whoever tipped me off. It reminded me of a certain small town of barely 3,000 people. Quite endearing. Photo from here.

It was also the day that the Bailout Bill was being put back to The House for debate and a re-vote, and the highly anticipated (and only) vice presidential debate was scheduled to take place.

And did you know? If you listen to CNN all day long, for twelve hours straight, you will hear the same news over and over. For twelve hours straight.

I learned that all Sarah Palin had to do at the debate was not sound like a blubbering idiot, and she would have come out the victor. And Joe Biden's (can I call him "Joe?") only task was to refer to Palin as "Governor," not acknowledging in any way, shape, or form, the gender of his opponent, and it would be considered a tie. Fair and square.

I also learned the terms Freddie and Fannie, the names Frank Raines and Barney Frank, and that $700,000,000,000 (that's seven hundred billion dollars...as in billion) is supposed to save our economy [which, incidentally, is worse off than it ever was in the Dirty Thirties, as Canadians know the Great Depression].

It's almost like I got smart...or something.

The most important thing I learned, however, is that I have no idea who I should vote for in the presidential election. I have already learned my lesson that it's silly to vote for a candidate based on what family is doing. I want proof. I want evidence. I want to know, for myself, for sure, that I am voting for the right person. In my travels abroad, I have met a lot of people, and I've learned that, from outside our borders, many people think America is a laughingstock. I was shocked when I first realised that not everybody hails America as the greatest country on Earth. It opened my eyes, and I have been supremely interested in my world perspective ever since.

I want to vote for the team that will make the rest of the world stop laughing at me.

Only I can't figure out which team that is.

I know that so many people would give their organs (not the vital ones, maybe just a kidney, but still...) to be able to vote in this election. People throughout history have fought for the right to vote. I do not take it lightly. In fact, I'm starting a poll of Canadians, asking who they would vote for if they had a choice. So far I'm 1-1 (it's a small poll--I don't have a lot of friends up here).

So I'm asking you to weigh in. Not that I'm going to vote for whoever you vote for...but I'd like to hear people's pros and cons...why you've decided who you did, or if you are struggling to decide, like I am. And don't be shy [or do be...whatever works]. You don't have to answer. If you want to, you are welcome to hide behind anonymity, or you can leave your comment under a name that only I would know, like "Your Manager From the Gallery in Scottsdale" or "The Person Who Accused You of Stealing my Graphing Calculator Freshman Year at ASU" or "Your Mother." Or else you can just leave your name and buck up for the ensuing mud-slinging. I get it all the time--it's not so bad.

I ask this so I can see the world from some different perspectives, not so I can raise you-know-what. I need help, is all.

Ready? Go!

How To Be Self-Taught at Anything.

Thank you, everyone, for all the birthday wishes. Nothing like a birthday to make me feel like everybody loves me. On a birthday, I have no enemies. On a birthday, I'm everyone's favourite person. Updates of the day will be coming next week.

But until then, I'm trying to learn the ever-so-complicated art of Photoshop CS3. [What? They have a CS4 now? Shoot.] It's not an easy task. Poor Kyle taught me what a layer was and how to use one, and Ree Drummond taught me everything else.

I don't want to take any classes or any true tutorials, because I would very much like to go around smugly telling people that "I am a self-taught Photoshop extraordinaire." There's something about being self-taught [at anything!] that makes me feel really vain.

So far so good. I know I like how this one turned out. What a cute little tongue my nephew has. All the better to exploit him with--that's what I say.

But when it came to this photo, I couldn't decide if I liked Option #1 or Option #2 better...

On the one hand, in the above photo (Option #1), Inquisitive Baby's eyes are bright and crisp, and his face looks soft and fluffy.

But on the other hand, in Option #2, my Inquisitive Baby's background is dark, and there's just enough contrast to provide visual stimulation.

Visual stimulation? I don't even know what an aperture is--how can I possibly talk about visual stimulation and get away with it?

So it's up to you, e-friends. Should I like #1 or #2 better? The differences are subtle, but I feel like I should have an opinion either way. And you are going to form that opinion for me [please, that is]! You can vote in the poll to the right, or comment on this post if you'd like to expound your reasoning. Also, if there are any amazing photography sites that make your world go round, please let me know of them.

I'm in the market for some inspiration.

Thanks. For Nothing.

This is madness.

I cannot believe my own readers (of which there are 100 or so, as far as I can tell [not much, but hey--they're mine]) do not support me in not supporting Poor Kyle's remarriage.

Whose side are you all on, anyway? Poor Kyle is not the one who writes faithfully here every day (or night), laboring endlessly thinking of clever new topics to keep you entertained. You want to know a secret? He doesn't even care about you much. Oh, sure, he reads your comments (which are becoming fewer and fewer lately. [Don't think I haven't noticed.]), but does he ever leave any of his own? No. It's like he doesn't even want to be connected with my blog, or any of you; as though we're some strange distant relatives he only sees at family reunions every other year, and even then he doesn't sit with us at lunch.

So how can you all be siding with him? Traitors.

The only one of you who has been loyal throughout my time of serious travail has been Anonymous #2 and #3, who I secretly suspect are the same person. So that is it; one person out of 100 agrees that I should be Poor Kyle's one-and-only, and that I am right in my decision to haunt Poor Kyle if he ever remarries after I die young. And he or she won't even leave his or her name.

If this doesn't beat all.

The only thing you can do to make up for your mistreatment of me is to participate in the new survey I'm posting on the right sidebar. All you have to do is answer the following question:

If Camille took a page out of Bossy's book and tried to go on an excellent road trip next summer, would you be interested in giving her a place to sleep at night?

That's it. I was going to write a thrilling post complete with before-and-after photos, tense controversies, and personal life scandals...but now all you get is a lousy survey.

And it's all you deserve, after yesterday's abandonment. I hope you're sorry.