here it goes…

18 10 2009

Well, I’ve done it. I’ve joined the ranks of millions. I jumped on the blogwagon.

I’ve tossed the idea around a time or two before. The hippest of my friends, or at least the ones whose lives and styles and knowledge of pop culture and “in-ness” I most covet, you see, all have blogs, and have for years. And I want to be just like them. Desperately. But I’ve inevitably come to terms with the fact that I have nothing of any real interest to say.

I’m a mom to a three-year-old girl, and, though she’s RIDICULOUS cute and smarter than you’ll ever be, no one besides her dad and I and her four adoring grandparents really care. Mom-blogs abound, and even I don’t find them all that interesting.

I’m also a musician, sort of. But I only have the time and ability to do any music stuff half-ass these days, and, again, no one cares. Nor should they.

I’m a married homeowner. B-O-R-I-N-G.

So I gave up on the idea of blogging based on the fact that, while I tend to find my life interesting enough, I seriously doubted the world had any need to listen to or read about how I spent my very average days.

Until Now.

Because now, I have a rare disease. I mean, I’ve had it all along, but I didn’t know it until two weeks ago. And when I say rare, I mean RARE. Rarer than a straight male ballet dancer. Rarer than a steak that still moos. Rarer than an LA snow day.

You get the idea.

So anyway, I think this qualifies as interesting enough to tell the internet all about, and besides, NOT whining to anyone about it is driving me nuts. Whether I end up typing to nobody but my MacBook, or to a handful of random readers, or the best I can hope for: all of my good friends and acquaintances and my mailman and barista and the lady who drives the trash truck in my neighborhood and has been known to cuss me out a time or two when I’ve questioned her can-tipping skills (but seriously, she dumps half the trash back onto the street, and how hard can it really be,) it will serve as a therapeutic outlet for me. Also, it will hopefully keep my marriage intact, since my poor Eric has to be the only set of ears for now who I can talk to about my purple pee and retell the story about how much fucking dilaudid I was on in the hospital, and freak out about the possibility of developing hallucinations and dementia as the disease progresses.

But I’ll get to all that later. My plan is this: Over the next week or so, I’ll catch you up on the happenings from the last several weeks, and give you lots of background info so you have a good, solid foundation with which to comprehend my current and future activities. You may feel free to analyze the shit out of me and tell me just how crazy I am. Sound good?

Good. So let’s get started.

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One response

19 10 2009
rmatch

Just want to point out that I am the sixth person who cares about how ridiculously smart and awesome your daughter is. BTW.

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