Obsession is best.

The other night I was laying on the couch, in my Batman T-shirt and sweatpants, watching Astonishing X-Men on Netflix, reading Birds of Prey and Fear Itself, and basically nerding out. I had an epiphany as I lounged, and it's one that probably could have saved me a bunch of time, money, and preserved a little of my sanity over the years that I have been a functioning adult.

I get obsessed. When I was in college, I became an improviser with iPlay, and that became my life. When I started doing comedic improv, that became my life. I started working at Shadowbox, and sketch comedy/rock and roll music became my life. Every time I have transitioned into a new career, or decided to try a new hobby, I become fixated. My three years with The Jove were all about The Jove. My waking hours were filled with ideas on how to forward the troupe, reading about improv and as a result I was working too many hours a week and letting a lot of personal things fall by the wayside. Even my own show, The Jiggles and Giggles Comedy Fest, has become an obsession. Marketing it, writing songs and sketches based on my life, and just putting my all into it so much so that I have bruises on both knees and a broken elbow as a result.

This latest incarnation of comic book junkie and writer has started to eclipse everything else in my existence. I find myself imagining scenarios that the girls can experience, relating it to my own life and basically taking my day to day existence and putting it into panels for the world to see. I read, voraciously, comic books and online comics to increase my knowledge of formats, stereotypes, and arcs. I watch comic book movies, read comic book articles, and immerse myself in the culture so that I can be the best nerd that I can be. I've even contemplated a re-haul of my wardrobe to be more "nerd chic" and have finally realized that this is insanity.

So next week at ComicCon, they're going to see the same old Lauren that everyone sees here in Palm Beach. Heels, jeans, and cardigans. This Lauren knows more about Deadpool than she used to and can tell you what her favorite Dr. McNinja online comic is (the one where Ben Franklin comes back from the dead and turns into a headless horseman because of an evil plot created by Dracula.) But she's also a girly girl who works at a country club and wears skirts and pearls to work every day. She'll probably have to take a phone call about an accounting question or how to make a computer work while sitting in the Walking Dead panel.

And that's ok.

BOOM! :)

Itchy.

I have what some might term an obsessive personality. I don't wash my hands 50,000 times or touch every doorknob ten times before I enter a room. It's not that extreme. But when I decide I want or need to do something, it's all that I can think about...even when I am procrastinating and putting it off.

Case in point. I decided that in the midst of all my day job, writing columns, creating comics, and a couple of trips to see family and go to ComicCon, that I should create a brand for PMS. I spent every night for the last two weeks working on it. I denied invites to go out with friends, rejected a date (which wasn't really that hard to do as the guy was a little strange and only talked about his ex-girlfriend, his crappy roommate, and how much weed he used to smoke), and even blew off plans for a personal day with myself to just sit, in my pj's and type. I sent in a request to go live tonight, but I am still twitching wondering if the design is dynamic enough, spending the few hours til midnight dwelling on things that still need to be done (like collaborate on a PMS theme song with the lovely Bailee on ukulele.)

This morning I also broke a nail. I didn't exclaim in girly dismay at the loss of my long tip. I just got out my travel manicure kit and trimmed the unsightly, ragged edge and moved on with my work day. As I'm typing, though, I can feel the distinct difference in nail length and it is totally distracting me. My fingertips start to itch as I plot when I can sneak the kit out and even the playing field. My boss went outside to oversee a project, and I thought, "Do it now, Lauren!! He won't know any differently!" But the logical part of my brain said, "No, Lauren. Trimming your fingernails at work is weird. Someone could get a clipping and make a voodoo doll. USE YOUR BRAIN!" Though the logic side has won out this time, my hands are still twitchy and my eyes are drawn to the little stub on the middle finger of my left hand.

I never said I was normal.