I wonder what I’m going to do about ­­­­­­­­___________?

I’m tryin’, ya’ll. I’m trying to be perky and cutesy and happy and normal. I’m trying to write I Wonders and my own blog and emails and long overdue thank you cards for my birthday presents, trying to call friends and interact with my husband and snuggle my baby and walk my dog. I’m trying to live my daily life, but everything is done in the shadow of a great fear.

No, it’s not the poorness, though that makes my heart beat faster daily as I watch our credit card balance rise like a phoenix from the ashes of the bonfire I lit less than a year ago, the bonfire which was supposed to burn up the credit card monkey on my back for good. (Ya’ll, I spend 6% of my yearly gross salary on GAS TO DRIVE TO WORK, ok? This is not cute new boots on this credit card. This is not sexy eyeliner or fun trips to the beach. This is gas, and food, and car repairs, and that beeyotch is still climbing to the sky quicker than I can say GAWDDAMM.)

No, it’s not the job, though that is the tiger eating out my liver as I eternally shoulder a rock up a hill at the top of which are just-out-of-reach grapes that brush against my thirsting lips, or some other such torturous Greek mythic metaphor.

No, it’s not the prospect of Sarah Barracuda as my Vice President, though that makes me a little bit sick to my stomach. Both for me and for her.

Folks. I DO NOT KNOW what I am going to do about my Netflix lineup.

We’ve finished Seinfeld. We’re coming to the end of Northern Exposure – which, incidentally, does not affect my views on our Alaska governor because, yo, it’s a t.v. show, but it does make me a little more excited about winter for some odd reason. Anyhoo, I’ve got so many choices for our next series. Do we go with Weeds? Six Feet Under? The Sopranos? Do I strike out solo with Gray’s Anatomy? Do we mix it up and get, gasp, a friggin’ movie?

What are your favorite old shows? What is the show you adored most in life? What do you recommend I do about my Netflix queue? Because if I don’t hurry up, my husband will worm his way in there and make the whole thing a bunch of baseball documentaries, and then I will have nothing left to live for.