What have they done to me?

Lately, I have found myself feeling more tired than usual, sometimes my head aches, and there are even moments when I just don’t know what I have to look forward to. Sure, you’re thinking these are all classical signs of depression. No, I must counter, I have plenty of Zoloft to take care of that. I think my real problem is some sort of US Weekly post-partum. You see, ever since the announcement of TomKat and their TomKitten (who I can only imagine will be worshiped by a team of wide-eyed, slightly delusional celebrities like John Travolta, Kirstie Alley, and Lisa Marie Presley while Katie’s Toledo family begins inquiries about exorcism), nothing else can measure up for me. That was the be all, end all in celebrity gossip, and I just don’t know what to do anymore. I know all about the Scientology silent birth, Katie’s popping belly button, and Tom’s home sonogram kit. (Which, honestly, if I didn’t know he had lost it before, what the hell is that about? Who on earth needs to look at a fetus that much? It even leads me to revisit all of the offbeat theories I also know about whose baby it really is and how it was conceived. Maybe Tom needs to know that exact moment he can recognize L. Ron Hubbard’s reincarnated spirit in his offspring. I had trouble understanding why my cousin wanted a sonogram at 6 weeks, and now this? Whatever Tom’s reason is - it isn’t normal.) I’m thinking of having updates about them sent to my cell phone. Not even the news of Nick and Jessica’s breakup could bring me out of my funk. I made my peace with the end of their marriage weeks ago with the oh so bold “Split” US Weekly cover. Today’s tidbit that Jessica ended their marriage over e-mail brought a slight smile to my face, but it is nothing like the euphoria I knew in early October. And, do you know how much pain it causes me to know that all of this is my own fault? I have completely bought into a celebrity-obsessed, paparazzi-ridden world that steals my money and my soul while the man who is the cause of my complete malaise right now wouldn’t even approve of my attempts to classify post-TomKitten letdown with mental health professionals because he says psychiatry isn’t real? Oh, why must I be so torn by my relationship with the Cruise-inator? I still want Maverick to show up and take me to the prom. But, “Vanilla Sky” almost broke my will to live, and, as far as I’m concerned, he can pry my psychotropic drugs out of my cold, dead hand. So, unfortunately, I am the sick soul that keeps Life & Style running. As long as US weekly is willing to improve my self-esteem by showing me I’m not all that different from the rich and famous, (yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, and Denise Richards and I both sneeze) I will probably be willing to keep buying them. Well, now I’m sad on two fronts and think I need to go look for a life. P.S. But, if anyone does happen to have a tape of Tyra's closed-set showdown with Naomi Campbell, I'd be quite interested...