Once Again, Oprah's Magazine Helps Me Sort Out My Crazy

I've been sort of in a funk lately. It's hard to pinpoint one specific reason; there really are so many. But it took a flip through the latest edition of O Magazine to realize what truly was wrong in my life.

(Sidenote: I started this earlier and got too busy to finish it. It's now late and I'm waiting for my A/V guy to come back from a smoke break, so I thought I'd finish up, since I'm completely at his mercy and he damn well knows it. Back to how Oprah has reminded me -once again- of how badly I have fucked up.)

A long time ago, in a land far, far away where women with fake boobies marry their plastic surgeons and then score gigs as the hosts of shows like "Wild On!" a lonely, stressed out 23 year-old glanced at the inaugural issue of O Magazine, which asked something lame like, "Is There Joy In Your Life?" She thought about it, realized there wasn't, and then uprooted her entire life and went running back to Mommy.

Then, last night, that same girl glanced at the latest issue of O Magazine, which told her to "Take Pleasure!" She opened the article and skimmed through it: "Blah blah blah oral sex, blah blah blah chocolate, blah blah blah music. Endorphins. Music blah endorphins!" Bells started ringing all through her head, drowning out the innumerable sirens normally blaring around Penn Station and the really annoying Pan Flute Guy, who always starts his set everyday with "My Heart Will Go On" from Titanic, and whom the girl adamantly suggests is actually PAN FLUTE-SYNCHING. Anyway. I'm tired of telling this story from the Third Person Omniscient POV.

I considered the fact that I get cranky and confused if I haven't worked out in a while, which I attribute to a raging endorphin addiction. And I also considered the fact that I regularly used my iPod to manipulate my moods, as all of us tend to do. Hence, I am very susceptible to the Music = Endorphins theory.

I relied heavily on my iPod, and before that, my discman! I had to be listening to something every possible moment I had available. And then, suddenly, my most convenient and desired route to escapism and a quickie endorphin fix was TORN FROM MY GRASP like plastic cups of cheap, red wine at the office Holiday party!

I actually CRAVE songs. I'll think, "Gee, I really which I could listen to ANY OF THE HUNDREDS OF SONGS I PAID FOR AND YET ARE UNAVAILABLE TO ME DUE TO THE SEDUCTIVE LURE OF AN iPOD "UPDATE" GONE HORRIBLY WRONG."

I have a backlog of music I need to listen to. New shit is coming out everyday and I can't blow all my overtime on buying it AND IT'S KILLING MY SOUL. I am a shell of the woman I once was. A dull, gray mat frayed around the edges. I have nothing to color my daily life with, no fantastical scenarios to build a soundtrack around and escape into. Which is why everything seems to suck so much harder right now.

The good news is that my Applecare warranty appears to be waiting for me at home, which means I can send the iPod out for repair STAT. The bad news is that I am now faced with the questions: Did my life suck before my iPod broke and I just didn't know it because I was too busy living my fake music video life in my head? Or does it just seem so lame right now because I'm missing out on that steady push of endorphins only an iPod can provide, while simultaneously missing out on a fuck of a lot of other things, too?

Anyway, thanks AGAIN, O Magazine, for forcing me to question my purpose on this planet when I have so much other shit that needs to get done!