Ever wonder why we do things to ourselves that make us miserable? I do (this) and I have (done it again) and I am (miserable).

No, I haven't gorged myself on Blue Bell ice cream, although if I thought it would help I might consider it.

It's that public speaking thing again. Why do people keep asking me? Why do I keep accepting?

So here I am again, trying to prepare in about 10 days' time, to head to Nashville to teach a class on magazine production. I don't teach. I don't stand in front of rooms of people thinking I have anything of interest to impart to them. I was insane for ever saying I'd do this. Why did I?

It's that Puritan ethic thing, I think. "It's good for me." To stray outside my comfort zone, to get experience in something new, to meet people.

"If I were only thinner," I think, "I wouldn't mind parading in front of a roomful of strangers who've paid umpteen dollars to hear me say something enlightening, when I have nothing enlightening to say."

"If I were younger/prettier/smarter/not such a freaking panic-stricken basketcase, I'd enjoy this."

But, really, even if I were thinner, would it make me a more authoritative speaker? More comfortable speaking in front of a crowd? Give me hair that would actually do something besides lay flat or stick out, Alfalfa-like, depending on the humidity?

No, probably not. And eating a gallon of Blue Bell ice cream won't help any, either. At least I've learned that much.