You don't need to tell me. I know. You've been sitting up at night, chewing your nails, thinking, when, oh when, will she put up a new post? Why, oh why, has she not updated her blog?
Or not.
It's funny to me to blog. It has become yet one more area of my life where I feel this urgency to live up to some random standard I've set for myself thinking that other people will be let down, disappointed, think me unprofessional - the list goes on. And what's funny, in that non-ha-ha sense, is that nobody cares. I don't mean that in a harsh way, more in a, I know the only person who has given more than one iota of negative thought to the fact I haven't posted in awhile is me. Ok, other than my book publicist.
And isn't that what half my problem is with life? Always worried that other people are thinking negatively: at Safeway when my kid's crying in the car-cart because I won't give her a giant marshmallow, at the four way stop because I'm in the right hand lane that really is a lane but no one thinks it is, when I show up at pre-school in the same outfit I wore the day before (yes, it involves yoga pants that have never seen yoga), when my husband comes home and the house looks like a Filene's Basement wedding dress sale and we're having take-out. Again. When I made that sarcastic comment on Facebook and no one realized it was sarcastic. When...
All these things to feel guilty/weird/anxious about and yet, no one is really paying attention. And even if they are giving me that eye roll in the pasta aisle? Who the heavens cares? Because, you know what? We're all feeling guilty/weird/anxious about our own, say, lack of leg shaving before swim class. That woman who gave me the eye roll will only moments later be nervous about the check out guy seeing her tampons, Ben & Jerry's and PS I Love You DVD purchases.
Or not.
It's funny to me to blog. It has become yet one more area of my life where I feel this urgency to live up to some random standard I've set for myself thinking that other people will be let down, disappointed, think me unprofessional - the list goes on. And what's funny, in that non-ha-ha sense, is that nobody cares. I don't mean that in a harsh way, more in a, I know the only person who has given more than one iota of negative thought to the fact I haven't posted in awhile is me. Ok, other than my book publicist.
And isn't that what half my problem is with life? Always worried that other people are thinking negatively: at Safeway when my kid's crying in the car-cart because I won't give her a giant marshmallow, at the four way stop because I'm in the right hand lane that really is a lane but no one thinks it is, when I show up at pre-school in the same outfit I wore the day before (yes, it involves yoga pants that have never seen yoga), when my husband comes home and the house looks like a Filene's Basement wedding dress sale and we're having take-out. Again. When I made that sarcastic comment on Facebook and no one realized it was sarcastic. When...
All these things to feel guilty/weird/anxious about and yet, no one is really paying attention. And even if they are giving me that eye roll in the pasta aisle? Who the heavens cares? Because, you know what? We're all feeling guilty/weird/anxious about our own, say, lack of leg shaving before swim class. That woman who gave me the eye roll will only moments later be nervous about the check out guy seeing her tampons, Ben & Jerry's and PS I Love You DVD purchases.
The fact that we're all wrapped up in our own myopia should give us freedom. No one's thinking about me, so I can now stop thinking about whether or not people are thinking about me. Right? Well, I'll try it and see how that goes and let you know. Because I'm sure you're waiting on the edge of your seat.
In the meantime, I am revamping my website and we're going to start having some fun and not just these navel gaze-y, deep essays all the time. Oh, I'll still dish those up, because, you know, got to keep up appearances....
side note: so I was searching Google images for "bad dog no biscuit" and apparently that is code for "spandex wearing men, please take a picture of your junk." To which I reply, "please don't."
In the meantime, I am revamping my website and we're going to start having some fun and not just these navel gaze-y, deep essays all the time. Oh, I'll still dish those up, because, you know, got to keep up appearances....
side note: so I was searching Google images for "bad dog no biscuit" and apparently that is code for "spandex wearing men, please take a picture of your junk." To which I reply, "please don't."
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