Wednesday, March 14, 2012


I have approximately 28 minutes of silence to myself, so I thought I'd use the time to do a little bit of housekeeping.

Not my house, obviously. Don't you know me by now? That place is covered in dog hair and muddy paw prints, because where we live, it's been raining for two days, and the rain has apparently called the puppy by name, each drop screaming in dog tone, "Dumb puppy! Come pounce in my mud!".

The housekeeping is for my blog house. This one right here.

I fear that if I were a fish, I would be a selfish.

I've been looking at this blog as mine. Meaning, a place for me to get out my thoughts and questions and ponderings. Then I sit and wait, and you people (all 5 of you or however many are taking the time to read this on a regular basis) write me back. Mostly the response has been a resounding "Me too!" or "That's my life. Are you a spy?" or something of that nature.

But lately, I inadvertently have been putting questions out there that are then creating some questions in other people's minds.

The first one was when I wrote about Paula Deen. Who knew pie was so divisive? I certainly didn't. But it was just my opinion, my point of view, my feelings on the topic at that time. And although I love hearing the opposite point of view, I didn't (and don't) write here to get anybody's panties all bunched up. It's just me on me.

The second one was the last one I wrote...I have a feeling that it was internalized and thought about a lot. Some of you wrote to me and said again, "Me too!" or "That's my life. Seriously, stop spying on me.". But I think there are a different set of you - probably some of you who know me personally - who are thinking that me writing and wondering about where I live or where I am in my life is about you.

I'm here to tell you it's not. It's still just me on me.

I question everything. I worry about everything. Including where we live and the quality of our relationships and whether our daughters are happy enough and engaged enough and settled enough and eating enough. See? It's a tangled web I manage to weave, and I think some of you who are physically close to my sticky threads felt like I wandered over and bit you. Just a nip.

Side note: I gotta get off the spider analogy because I am afraid of them and am now fighting a case of the heebie jeebies. Also, I just really wanted to type heebie jeebies.

Back to the matter at hand, with 17 minutes left.

If you know me at all, you should know that I say what I mean and I mean what I say. I don't lie because I'm really bad at it and also because I can't keep the one true life I have straight, do you think I could keep another story going alongside? Well, I can't. 

Also, if we're truly friends, you know that as a Taurus, I'm loyal as hell to those that are true to me. I'm stubborn and I'm grounded and if you're my husband, you might call me a cat, because I'm perfectly content to find a warm spot and lick myself into oblivion, then roll over and go to sleep.

I don't like change and I don't need any more of it. I'm content sipping my tea or Chardonnay, just knowing that my coral - near and far - is at the bottom of the ocean and always will be. I love to be near you, but I also love knowing I'm near enough, even when I'm not physically right next to you, because you're right where you belong in my heart of hearts.

If you know me at all, you know that. And you know that if I write about moving away or moving aside or moving around, you know me well enough to know that if I've put you in my heart, I'd never move away from you, and I'd never move you aside and I wouldn't mess around with a good thing. I'm cool like that.

So. With 12 minutes left, I'd like to end this little love letter to my friends and readers with a plea. I'm worried about everything and everyone else. Continue to be the thing that makes me uncrazy, if you will. I gotta put it out here, because it helps me, and if me putting it out here does anything but inspire you or make you think or push you to write back to me with an Amen, Sister, then just say something to me, please.

My psychic power "on" button got lost a long time ago. I think it eloped with the "off" button that used to push itself after a couple of glasses of wine, telling me to switch to water. I hope they are very happy together. And I hope we will be too, forever and ever and always.

Seven minutes left. I think I'll meditate. And by meditate, I mean do sit ups. And by do sit ups, I mean play Angry Birds.

Good night, friends.

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