Some of the knottiness comes from the assumptions people made about my inherent red-headed naughtiness when I was little. People assumed I had a hot temper because of my hair and my complexion, so they were ready to beat it out of me before I even uttered a word. I still get angry, but I'm always ready for the smack-down when I do. Believe it or not, I really don't like to piss people off.
Silly me. I should have trusted you. Your response made me teary a couple of times today. You can't see it in the comments here -- damn it -- but a bunch of you shared last night's post on Facebook. Way more than any of the other 530 posts I've published here. (Shares, in case you didn't know, are like the blow jobs of the blogging world. Comments down below are like the cunnilingus.) I digress. Many people -- friends and strangers -- made supportive comments and carried on the discussion, again on Facebook. I'm sorry my brother can't see all of the wonderful discussion. It might balance out the experience of seeing that stupid quotation yesterday.
I haven't heard back from my brother yet, so I don't know how he reacted. I hope he was OK with what I wrote. I worried that I didn't run it past him first, but this post-a-day business means I have to keep to a tight schedule or else.
I did unfriend my cousin about 12 hours after I published. Several people suggested that I blast her for the nasty shit she posts, but I don't want to. I didn't want to make last night's post about me, so I didn't say how painful it is for me to see who she's become. She was the closest thing I had to a big sister when I was a painfully shy, insecure kid, and I idolized her. I wanted to bleach my hair like she did and wear short skirts like she did and read True Story magazine like she did. It's not easy being the oldest of 5 kids. I didn't have anybody ahead of me to break the way, and I felt shy and confused a lot of the time. My cousin let me piggyback sometimes, whether she knew it or not. And there was a time, even as adults, when we were close. I don't agree with her beliefs now, but I don't hate her.
Anyway, tonight I just want to say thank you. Thank you for coming here and reading. Thank you for sharing and commenting. Thank you for your kind and supportive words. Thank you for standing up for what you believe in, especially when you agree with me.
And if you don't agree with me you're stupid. Thank you.
I know it seems like I've slacked off with the blogging, but the fact is I taught a blogging class to my juniors last quarter. So I had to build and maintain a new blog of my own for that class. WordPress was the only decent blogging platform we could get past the school filters, so I played with that for 10 weeks, and wrote posts there quite unlike what I write here. I'm not going to post the link. It's not that interesting. I don't think my students even read my posts, although I did read and grade all of theirs. They could have gotten higher grades if they'd commented more on my posts. Oh, well.
Of course, now I need to design a Reticulated Writer blog there and migrate this one over, but most days it's either dig into that or write. And I'm still looking for someone to take my banner photo. Anyway ... TMI, but I hope to upgrade to a sexy new look here by summer.
I ate a doughnut tonight. I never eat doughnuts. I love them, but I probably don't eat a doughnut even once a year. But lately I've been craving one, so tonight I said "fuck it," and I chose a shiny maple-glazed doughnut from a tray of pastries, and I ate every bite of it. And then I was annoyed at myself, because even though that doughnut looked delicious, when I bit into it I realized it was stale. A dry day-old doughnut.
And yet I sat there and ate the whole thing. Why? Because the person who had provided them for the meeting I was at was sitting right next to me. I would rather have gotten up and thrown it away, so I wasn't tempted to eat it, but I didn't want to make her or me feel uncomfortable, so I ate the damn doughnut, and I didn't enjoy it.
|(Photo credit: howstuffworks.com)|
What's the lesson? If I want a fucking doughnut, I need to drive the 20 minutes it would take to get to the Krispy Kreme store where you can watch the doughnuts come off the conveyor belt and buy them warm and gushy and fresh. And then I need to buy a doughnut and sit out in my car and eat the doughnut I want to eat instead of caving in and eating just any old doughnut.
I see an analogy to dating here.
Someday I'm going to go to Krispy Kreme and buy that damn doughnut, and I'm not going to feel guilty. OK, that's a lie, because I resent every calorie I eat, but I'm going to do it anyway.
Finally, I was talking with my brother one day. It had been a long time since we'd talked, and he asked me something he should have known if he were a loyal reader here, which I thought he was. I said, "I wrote about that. You should know the answer."
And he said, "You haven't been writing as much as you used to. I forget to check now."
I said, "If you loved me you'd still check every day, butthead. But why don't you just get it by email?"
He said, "I didn't know I could."
So maybe some of you didn't know that either. All you have to do is click on the email button at the bottom of the page, and every time I publish you'll get an email with the post in it.
You should still click in and leave a comment though. I will never be able to make a dime with this blog if I only get comments on Facebook. Then again, my ability to earn a reasonable income from my work comes in fits and spurts, much like an unemployed porn star.