I wish I were one of those every day posting people.

There are some blogs that I check regularly, sometimes even more than once a day! I can’t explain it except to surmise that it is a combination of poor memory, lack of hand-eye coordination, and the knowledge that a few of those authors are every day posting people.

The writers that post every single day have my admiration and my loyalty. I am filled with joy when I see that new daily post. I relish each word. Because not only do the every day posting people bring order, routine, and predictability to this crazy world with their publishing habits, but each and every post is good. Just when you think, “Wow, that was an amazing entry. They just don’t get better than that,” WHAMO! they hit you with another post even funnier, more articulate, and more intelligent than the last.

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I am more than a little bit embarrassed to admit that people whom I love and respect are interested in the work of mediums.

You read me right — mediums. You know, “I see dead people.” These folks use their (cough, cough) talents to communicate with family and friends on the “Other Side,” helping you through the grieving process . . . for a nominal fee.

Now, I don’t pretend to be any sort of expert in the paranormal sciences, but let’s examine the facts, shall we? A medium claims to be able to communicate with the dead. Souls, spirits, ghosts or what have you, we’re talking about entities unseen and unheard. So a medium speaks to another person that she expects you to believe is there even though you can’t see him. Where I come from, that’s called an “invisible friend.”

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Life altering decisions should not be made first thing in the morning. Trust me on this.

This was the lesson I learned when my alarm bitch-slapped me out of sweet repose one morning not long ago. I writhed about until I got within reach of the clock. My body was being wholly uncooperative. The effort of turning off that obnoxious siren left me ready for a nap. I lay there like the slug I am trying to convince myself that it was alright to sleep late. After all, I had the day off. But I knew that I would face a restless night that evening unless I dragged myself out of bed at the same wakey wakey time as every other day.

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Dear unfortunate Customer Service Representative,

Yes, it’s me again. I realize that not long ago I derided you for your failure to deliver a single magazine to my door in the last five months, but I promise to be more patient and understanding this time.

A careful check of my calendar shows me that today is the 2nd of September. An equally careful consultation with your “subscription status” link tells me that my account is paid in full and active. For weeks now, I have noticed the pretty pink covers of your recent issue beckoning me from the magazine racks of every checkout lane I’ve been through.

“Buy me!” your cover model purrs. “Take me home with you.”

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