It’s come to my attention that some of my readers are a little…..bothered by my writing. Some have even become quite upset!
To be more specific; some of my readers don’t feel like I should be sharing some of the things that I share. That they wouldn’t feel comfortable disclosing the level of detail that I do online.
My response to you, dear perturbed reader; then why the ef should I bother writing??
There are millions of self help blogs. There are thousand of “mommy blogs”. Tons. All fully prepared with cushy, backwashed opinions. There are people whose careers rely completely on how much people like them. Hello, Mr. President! In other words…there are millions of people who give many efs about watching what say. This is America, after all.
I am not one of those people.
You know why I started this friggin blog? Because I love writing. And I don’t totally suck at it. At least I don’t think that my writing sucks. Victor Hugo is probably bawling in his grave at my excessive uneloquent diction….Just kidding. Victor doesn’t give a crap. He and Leo Tolstoy are up there having a pint together. Ayn Rand is probably pissed though…
My post titles are like billboards. You can choose to follow the directions given. You can go to the website. You can click on the dang link! But you can also drive on by…unbothered. Undisturbed. Comfortable. It is a separate entity from my regular pages. You, lovely one, are not obligated to click on anything! Who knows? Maybe you’re the kind of person who really does believe that sexy singles are waiting to talk to you! You can’t believe your luck….Another free iPad?? Get outta town!
I don’t write to make you happy. This post is probably the only one that will involve any thought of you at all.
In Business Writing 1010, I had a rad balding professor who told us that writing serves this purpose; to get an action out of someone. “Action”, not necessarily “reaction”. Although, some of my readers have had pretty strong reactions.
Fine. You want me to write to give you the warm fuzzies? ‘Cause dangit. I will drown you in fuzzies….Here!
“Motherhood is such a blessing. I wake up each day feeling refreshed and nourished by the sunshine. I love my baby. My little mini me. So cute. Never done anything to put me on edge. Oh, and my husband. We just look at each other and melt. We hold hands and go on dates every week. Life’s issues could never challenge this exquisite bond that we share! School was great today. Those fine fellows in my theater class have such insightful things to-
Okay, sorry. My breakfast was on its way up. Just kidding. I haven’t had breakfast. I have an appointment in thirty minutes and haven’t even bothered putting on pants. I’ve literally written posts sitting on the toilet at 6 AM. Why do you take me so seriously, reader?! I don’t!!!
I write because if I don’t, then my insides get itchy. My brain gets angsty. I struggle to behave like a normal person unless I pound out two or three posts a week. Even on days when I really don’t feel like writing.
Oversharing is the best. Because this human experience is different for everyone. Even though we all isolate ourselves from time-to-time and whisper “I am soooo alone.” into our pillows. Fine. It would probably come out like “iiii af foooo ahooone”.
You’re not. You might be too afraid to share though. So, I will. I’ve always had trouble keeping my mouth shut. I was that chick in high school who would sit through AP Lit with resting b*tch face playing Plague on my phone until some fool decided to compare Alec in Tess of the D’urbavilles to Satan. My eyebrow arched, hand went in the air:
“Now back that f*cktrain up, buddy!”
I’m still that same chick. Only crankier because I’m almost 7 months pregnant. I was a cranky baby too, as my mother reminds me..
Dear reader. I apologize for perplexing you so. It must be hard. I regret to inform you that you will likely continue to feel appalled by someone who ate 5 mini eclairs and a full course Chinese meal in one sitting. I don’t take myself seriously. I’m just here to write. Whether it be about social injustice or how my pants don’t fit.
I can’t keep my mouth shut. Deal with it.