It's just that I've been so mad. It's hard to write about stuff you care passionately about (your family) when the world around you is insane. I think, perhaps, literally, insane. The crazy world invites all these diatribes and rants and soon I either become Bill Maher or Keith Olberman, and then I'm insane, and what good has that done? Nobody wants to hear my thoughts on the world in general. I am neither qualified nor insightful enough to add anything to the national dialogue on anything.
One of the things I have been trying to do to stem the crazy is to avoid the news. This is, theoretically, not difficult. I never watch daytime TV, so there's no Hoda or Kathie Lee trying to sell me oversize glasses of w(h)ine. M refuses to put any 24 hour news channels on our favorites list, so when I scroll through the options on TV, those stations don't even APPEAR. And, of course, it's my own fingers who find the URL of Facebook and CNN and all the other outlets online.
Somehow, being disconnected from the rest of the world made me feel uncomfortable. Part of this is my own delusions of self-importance. Somehow, if I read the news, I can affect its outcome. Sorry to those Beastie Boys fans out there, and sorry it took so long to you guys waiting for Gingrich to withdraw from the elections. That kind of power is scary. So, I take the burden of influencing the news seriously.
I won't even mention Pinterest.
Also, my life keeps me distracted. Should I write about my kids? Right now, they're kind of uninteresting. They don't really get into trouble, they perform well on standardized tests, and they went to California over spring break to be treated with nothing but indulgence by their grandparents. It's hard to make observations about children whose lives are equivalent to that of Wagyu Beef cows.
A lot of what they've been doing lately is readily distilled into Facebook length updates. A popular diddy:
S's teacher to me one day after school: I have to tell you what S said today.
Me: OK
S's Teacher: Here is the conversation:
Me: S, honey, you look tired.
S: Yah. Well, my parents put me to bed at the regular time, but I snuck downstairs, and watched some TV from the kitchen. I watched the end of Big Bang Theory and then I caught some Chelsea Handler. She's really funny. Really inappropriate. But, really funny.
Me: Ok, then.
Me: Parents of the year, right? (Bow, in gratitude and acceptance of the award). He sneaks downstairs a lot and we didn't bust him last night 'til we heard him laughing about Chelsea.
See, I can put that on Facebook in, like, a minute. I don't have to give y'all a lot of set-up material. That's so funny, it can stand on its own.
I really don't know what to do anymore. It only takes me about a half hour a day to post an entry. Is it worth it? Do people have the 2 minutes to read my 30 minutes of work? Will it be easier in the summer? Would I have more to say?
Also, it seems disingenuous to bitch about my life these days. While there have ALWAYS been people starving in Africa, and god knows I still managed a pity party despite that, I feel like people close to me have had problems lately. It seems absurd to complain about healthy children who get into inconsequential mayhem occasionally when I have friends dealing with, you know, problems.
Should I bother to get my blog on anymore? Should I put it to vote? Should I strive to post weekly? Monthly? Not at all? If you're out there still (I don't know why you would be, I would have given up on me a long time ago) lemme know.
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