First and foremost, have you voted for LiveFeed? We’re down to the wire and a smidge over 200 votes out of first place. Go! Vote! $10,000 to help LiveFeed fulfill its mission of feeding hungry kids in the St. Louis metro area!

Second, I made my Riverfront Times debut on Tueday, which pleases me. My next piece is worth reading, considering I think I very nearly might have been murdered in doing my research. Throwback of the House, my column about making the worst recipes ever published, appears on Tuesdays. I’m not sure when my other column, The Dive Bomber, will debut. Tomorrow, maybe? I’m hoping it won’t appear in the obituaries.

That’s all for business. Personally, eh. I can’t seem to get my shit together this week. I should probably stop watching sad shows about country stars on Biography. I’m watching the one about George Jones right now. “He Stopped Loving Her Today” is never good for improving the state of one’s mental health.

I feel like I could go on a whining tear so easily right now, even though I really have nothing to whine about.  My friend Tessa posted a video for Wilco’s “Forget The Flowers”, one of my favorite songs that fits me so well. This led me to a frenzy of watching live Wilco videos on YouTube for way too long. I think I watched “Red-Eyed and Blue/I Got You” with Andrew Bird on violin at least 15 times (I’m estimating). That helped, but now I’m clawing and pining for upcoming shows I may or may not be attending. Andrew Bird on March 15th. Possible Chicago fun the first weekend in April. Morrissey on April 8th. Possible Wilco show in Indiana on April 16th. Bottle Rockets on National Record Store Day (my favorite holiday, which is April 18th this year) with Clara Jane, another Bottle Rockets show/live DVD recording in Champaign, Illinois on May 2nd … Why am I bitching?

At the end of January I kept saying that I’d be fine once it was February. Now that it’s the end of February, I’m saying that I’ll be fine once it’s March.

My blood sugar’s off-kilter, which makes everything blurry and crappy. I’m doing some experiments with how I eat. Monday, I grazed on nuts and trail mix all day and did pretty well. Yesterday, I barely ate and had to take a 3-hour nap before dinner. I think I’m going to buy myself a horse feedback, fill it with trail mix, and go about my life in such a manner. It could be worse. I’m a little hypoglycmic; I could be taking several insulin shots a day. Nothing to complain about. Not that this has stopped me.

I’m feeling a bit like the extrovert who’s unable to get the people fix she needs. I’ve spent most of the week doing stuff at home, which means I haven’t been able to feed off the energy of others. I took Clara Jane to the park after school yesterday and watched her buddy up to three little girls. I also watched a scary Stepford Mom (tons of kids, formerly employed by an internationally-known St. Louis-based evangelist, wearing a sweatshirt declaring that someone special calls her mommy) make friends with a dad (stay-at-home with a houseful of adopted and foster kids) strike up a friendship and make a playdate.

I’ll just sit over here by myself and knit, okay? Nobody mind me.

Yeah, I’m sure the rays of rancid bitterness I was radiating had nothing to do with my lack of popularity.

Ugh. I need it to not be winter. I need the world to be more stable. I need to keep my brain wrapped around the idea that I’m really damn lucky. I need to go dance.