Pee Wee: There's a lotta things about me you don't know anything about, Dottie. Things you wouldn't understand. Things you couldn't understand. Things you shouldn't understand.
Dottie: I don't understand.
Pee Wee: You don't wanna get mixed up with a guy like me. I'm a loner, Dottie. A rebel.
It's peaceful here and the only sounds are a lightly snoring old lady cat sleeping beside me, the ceaseless, quiet click and whirr of the cable tv box (reminding us that we're ALWAYS plugged into the system now--phew, this could totally go all creepy sci-fi couldn't it, she says as all those internet waves bounce around the house and try to disrupt her ENDOCRINE SYSTEM AAAAAHHHH...meh, who can be bothered), and a ticking clock. Occasionally a car passes by. Less frequently the house makes some mysterious clunk sound somewhere. Have you ever noticed that? I should say, does YOUR house DO that? You're just sitting there, and there's some offhand kind of "crack" noise, like the house got tired of standing still with your lazy, ever-present, never-leaving-ass in it, and it stretched and its spine popped? Or some clunk that ALWAYS comes from the basement?
Ooop...hold that thought...I have to freaking pee again. Drink 8 glasses of water per day--pppffft. Terrible idea....
So much for deep, meandering thoughts! The point is this: it's extremely peaceful and quiet here and I like it. I like it far too much. So, I decided I'd better kick my own butt and do some writing and connect with the outside world a bit. I have always liked writing.
Back when I started this blog, the kids were a lot younger, a lot more tiring, and much shorter than me. Now instead of being darling little people (who wiped their own poopy bum-bums on the bathroom towels, shoved legos in their ears and put glitter glue on like eyeshadow), they're big, delightfully wonderful people who plug the damn toilet, but whom I can actually have really good conversations with. God I love my kids. They drain me, they give me white hairs, they turn me into a screaming idiot at times, but I found perfect friends and I grew them myself!
Yeah, that's kind of sci-fi creepy sounding once again.
Anyway, as I was saying, when I started blogging it was because I was a stay-at-home-mom (I think I hate that title--the feeling just occurred to me) with a young son somewhere vaguely on the Autism Spectrum, who liked to scream at me all the time for my shitty abilities to read his mind and always know 100 percent what he wanted from minute to minute, and a little toddler daughter who was and is the joy of my heart, but absolutely had her trying moments as well. I was an exhausted karen with a thyroid blown out by years of rabid snack cake and cookie abuse, stress, and loneliness that was almost palpable.
I liked connecting. I liked the fact that there were other stay-at-home-moms, and working moms, and dads of course, out there who related to the frustration of a seemingly thankless job wherein sometimes you have to scrape vomited hard-boiled eggs out of a sink drain with a plastic fork. I knew my life was more fucking ridiculous than a lot of other peoples', and I liked putting that out there for a laugh. I like making people laugh. And I could do this all from the comfort of my own couch. I like this because I'm a massive introvert and a recluse, and now I'm quite certain I have PTSD. I thank my Dad for that. I literally do. If you've had really bad things happen in your life, and you can't find a way to laugh at them, well--things are hard enough, aren't they.
I have to admit though--and please, I don't want to sound like an ungrateful bitch, or a miserable, unfriendly jerk, and this is not a judgement on anyone or the world of blogging, but it did become a bit hard. I didn't know if it was better to try to just write the hilarious stuff, or to try to only write the heavy stuff. I stressed when I'd see followers disappearing. I'd try to keep up with the "tags" and the conga-line "we're all doing a post on THIS this week," and I don't know. I'm not good at always joining in. Nothing but respect for all the amazing writers out there who have been so diligent and prolific with their blogging that they have amassed a great following and are able to make a living from their blog.
That's not me.
I've been not busy, and busy at the same time the past couple of years since my Dad died. He was a full stop for a while after my Mom died. And by the way, I know that when a grown-ass woman writes lamentfully (that's not a word. Fuck you, dictionary. If 'addicting' can become a thing, it's open season) about her parents dying, it's not going to typically move people much. That's cool. I get it. We only truly appreciate what we ourselves have already gone through. So in the past several years, I've been busy. The old version of karen wasn't working so hot. She was tired all the time, and really struggled through the days. Karen 2.0 gets so excited from her fucking lunch salad she takes pictures of it and posts it on instagram. I know. Contrived as hell. Except I'm absolutely and completely excited about healthy food. I work out all the time. And now, I won't bore you, but I'm hell bent on balancing my hormones. Ha haaaa, I know right?! But the point is, I've been working on it, and I've decided this is my "house", so fuck me, Imma do what I want in it. This is not a declaration to anyone but myself. I'll be miserable when I want to, and I'll be ridiculous when I want to. And, I'll swear it up because I love swears, and I ain't got no parents to disapprove. I have an older brother, and I don't think there's any risk of him reading my stuff, lolz.
My own path. Cuz I'm a loner, Dottie.