Thursday, 14 February 2002 | Monkeytime

So it went okay last night, despite my little breakdown just before the show. It was 7:40 and I was still at home, getting mad at my sock drawer for being too full and for tipping over the lamp on top when I tried to get a clean pair out, the dresser lurching forward with each tug of the drawer. (I wore a dirty pair of socks in protest.)

No time to relax, no time to rehash my understanding of the Bush administration's relationship with the Taliban, no shower, no dinner, no lying on the bed with the cat on my chest and my eyes closed, wondering why the hell I agreed to go on television and talk about politics. No, instead, I just rammed through my evening like a juggernaut and showed up on the set at 5 till 8, 5 minutes until I was supposed to be composed and poised and insightful.

There were five of us on camera—Todd (the host) and four female panelists, each of whom had chosen a topic to discuss. Of course, all of us were encouraged to add to any of the topics at hand, but we thought it was a good idea to narrow our focus for organizational reasons. (My topic was the proposed oil pipeline through Afghanistan.) Once the discussion began to gain force, my nervous anxiety slowly evolved into political frustration, and I began talking. I don't remember saying anything ridiculous; I do remember feeling awkward about my hands, though. Where should they go? I could see myself on the television out of the corner of my eye, gesturing at the bottom of the screen. Stop that. Keep your hands still. I couldn't look directly at the screen, because if I was on it, it meant that the camera was on me, which meant I had to guess the position between slouch and stiff, or whether it was preferable to the viewers that I talk at the camera or talk to the group. I know which one I preferred.

Afterwards, the buzz of adrenaline suddenly noticeable, my cheeks hot and pink, I breezed through the grocery store and onto Melanie's party, and then the juggernaut ran out of fuel. Home. Read one paragraph in bed, the cat beside me, asleep.

By the way, my car will spend another day in the shop tomorrow. That's five out of the last six work days. The only good thing about that is that the car people feel so sorry for me that they're giving me rides to work and they've started doing some of the labor for free.