I haven’t been on the blog lately. It’s not that I didn’t want to blog. It’s that I didn’t know what to talk about. I certainly didn’t want to talk about the status of my life–which is crazy, insane, busy, busier than busy, disorganized, and frothed full of to-do items that I just don’t have the time (okay so I don’t have the inclination either) to get done! What do I do?
All the social media experts say I should use the blog to connect with readers or to write about what I’m passionate about. Seriously? That’s the best they can come up with? That I should write about what I’m passionate about? If they want me to do that, then why not say… Hey, you, Elijana, get your ass off the blog and write those stories you’re passionate about!
Oh for crying out loud. Rather than telling me I need to blog, tweet, interact on Facebook with peeps who could care less whether or not I got a pedicure this morning–Noooo, I didn’t get a pedicure this morning. That’s the problem. I didn’t have time to get a pedicure because I had all these other things on my plate to get done–like blogging, laundry, dishes, changing the oil in the truck–argh, my nails will never be the same again. Yes, I’m digressing and this is my diary so I can digress if I want to. Dammit. Since when was a diary supposed to talk back to you?
Hey, that’s no reason to get potty mouth on me, Diary. I know I’m feeling guilty about not blogging, but seriously…? That’s why I’m posting to you–my diary–on my blog. Get it–kill two birds with one stone. It’s like sharing the pain–literally. And then some.
Okay fine. I’ll stop. For now. But I’ll be back. No, that’s not a threat (you juvenile delinquent of a diary that’s one step closer to a bar of lye soap for that potty mouth)–It’s a promise.
No. Yada-yada-yada is not a verb. It’s a noun. Oh for goodness sake, would you stay on task and let me get a word in edgewise. Please. *heart felt doggy sigh* Thank you.
Now as I was saying, I need a topic or topics to blog about. Do you, Dear Diary, have any suggestions? That was not a suggestion. And I don’t think it’s feasible given the first law of thermodynamics. Well, really, there’s no need to get nasty.
That’s it. Sock puppets are not an appropriate topic to talk about on the blog given what happened the last time we were within ten feet of–no, latex gloves do not make good sock puppets. Hey, get out of there! That’s my journal of story ideas! That’s off limits! It’s not done yet. Why not? *choke, cough, sputter* You know damn good and well why they’re not done yet… I just told you!!!
Because I’ve been distracted with a to do list eighteen miles long and–*THWACK*
Yessssssssss, I KNOW smoting my forehead doesn’t solve fine lines and wrinkles. *GROAN* I don’t smote my forehead for that–I do it because I don’t have a wall handy to bang my head against and the laptop is in the way of thudding my skull against the desk. But, hey, if you want to indulge yourself I can share the pain like this–
So how did it feel, Dear Diary, to be smoted against the desk? No, I will not do it again one more time. This time with feeling? You mean to tell me that you didn’t feel all my pent up rage directed at your–oh never mind. I’ll figure it out on my own.