the doo, doo, doo. the dah, dah, dah. all i want to say to you.
Several of you kind people have emailed me to make sure I haven't OD'd on Red Bull and Vodka or my slight supply of Xanax during my short but yet, lengthy absence from nanospace. Some would be pleased to know, I'm still alive and kicking even if just barely.
For the record, as someone not-so-kindly insinuated last week or the week before - I am not an alcoholic. I don't drink every night, I don't drink during the day and I sure as hell don't drink copious amounts chased with a hand full of pills. Hell, I can't seem to remember to take my blood pressure medication on a regular basis much less plan out some stupid combustion of sorts with unhealthy amounts of drinking and meds. Let's just say, I don't foresee a Heath Ledger event coming my way. If I'm going to die, it's going to be from a stroke while crapping on my toilet. Because, this is how my family dies. We die by medical error, strange viruses and strokes. Nothing so mundane as an drug overdose. Hell, we are too neurotic by nature to makes sure we aren't taking too many Ibuprofen or Tylenol doses as not to have liver failure. We smell ever bite put in our mouths to make sure we aren't eating tainted meat. We analyze every stool sample while perusing Web-MD from our favorites button. Hell, we know about recalls before the FDA knows about them. THAT my friends is how my family rolls. We are a bunch of neurotic anal headcases.
Back to why I haven't had much to say as of late. It seems, EVERYONE I know reads this site and well, I have begun feeling like I have to censor every sarcastic, painful word as not to have it taken out of context. When the shit hit the fan, so to speak with people commenting truly crappy and careless things, I started to re-evaluate what I am doing here. You see, I have no problem with spouting my shit into cyberspace to people I don't know. I know I set myself up for ridicule and criticism for the unknowns out there. I'm fine with not knowing who reads me. But, as of late, more and more people I come in contact with are saying, "hey! did you know so-and-so is reading you now?" People I actually know....This common knowledge has made me start to shart my pants with more massive anxiety. I guess after four years (as of this month) of writing pure mundane drivel, I've been found out. I worry how my blog is going to affect me or my children at their school. I worry that something that gave me such comfort after my Grandmother died with two children under two and a husband that traveled so much for many years has run it's course for me. Mainly, because of the pressure in the back of my tiny pee-brain head does not want to not say something that is going to offend anyone and everyone.
In a nutshell, I am beginning to feel like this isn't my place anymore.
Personally, I would like to go back to the time before Thalon died (really, who wouldn't?). When all I worried about was writing about my fat (phat) ass, analyzing my condiment obsession (more like hording obsession) and modeling hand-me-down muumuus and hat collections while writing odes to my beloved martini lounge pants and pondering ways to rewrite stupid children's books to my liking. But quite honestly, I have found with all the criticism I have had has turned my way as of late - I'm becoming more like an insolent child. I'm cussing more because it offends while alienating people I know because I'm being way too honest. In my personal space that is not that personal at all.
Simply, I feel I can't go back to being funny at this moment. Quite honestly, I'm just not feeling it right now. I've lost contact from people that used to think I was funny because I know if I were them and I hit this site, I would be thinking the same thing they are thinking. "Geez, not another post about her dead son. Man, this is painful to read. AGAIN! It's been 11 weeks! Isn't she over this yet? Dude, I am. I'm moving on.....DELETE from my feed-reader."
The reality of it all is, this IS my personal space. I pay for it. In more ways than one. Even if the name of this blog was a haphazardly drunken choice four years ago at 11pm on lonely night - it is my personal domain. A domain that should be free from criticism and blame. A place of "working it out on paper/screen" is my therapy. A binge and purge session if you will. Much cheaper than actual therapy in which I have had many a session in the past. Albeit, unsuccessful. A place I should feel comfortable about talking about stupid yet serious crap on. But it is not. At this moment, anyway.
