Digging Up The Past

I decided tonight I had to get ON my ass and write!!! I’ve been so busy this month working and working out and entertaining friends that I just haven’t had the time or energy to devote to my poor little neglected blog!!! *Keyboard plays sad violin music*

I started a few entries, alas alack. and left them undone *gasp* how could I? I know. Still, it’s been so long since my last post, I don’t even feel right finishing any of the draft entries I started (that shouldn’t be a surprise). Instead, I’ll leave their skeletal remains here and we can observe them as people in the future do when they discover bits and pieces of the past; something I know all about since that’s what my little sister Em does. Sorta. She’s still in school so it’s not like that is her current job or anything, but she’s majoring in something obscure and elite and totally hip – something I couldn’t understand, something that makes her a little smarter than me and *obviously* more entitled to her opinion – a point upon which we find ourselves constantly diverging.

See, I usually think Em’s opinion is dumb. Melodramatic. And she thinks I’m, well, pretty freaking clueless, since I was the Golden Child growing up (aka The Favorite) and never had to deal with the dark reality of being the Unloved Middle Child and black sheep.

Now, all this is going to come out in a future blog post. I just wanted to give Em a teaser so she knows that I haven’t forgotten to write a post featuring her. The curse of the Unloved Middle Child, I suppose – she’s always afraid I don’t remember she exists and she’ll never get her 15 minutes of fame on my blog. Poor baby. Just you freaking wait.

I’m sure Em just ran off to make Mom read this post with her so that I can be superficially scolded for once again embarrassing my family on the internet.

Anyway, back to the drafts and our study.

Draft: Friday, November 11 – Off The Juice, Almost

I love my nightly glass of wine. I tuck myself into bed with it, the red juice lulling me softly to sleep. It’s comforting. Warm. And never fails to send me sailing on a cruise to dreamland. Of course, I’m usually not that graceful and am waiting for the night I stop drinking wine in bed because I’ve spilled deep red wine on my bright white comforter. 

That night won’t be tonight because I’m giving up drinking! And carbs! For at least 2 weeks!

Field Notes: Clearly, the blogger was afraid of judgment and had no follow-through. Not only the fear of judgement for drinking wine in bed, which implies drinking red wine AFTER brushing her teeth – poor oral hygiene – but also judgment for drinking wine every night. Sounds like this blogger is a Capital W-Wine-o. So, she starts a post which may have well been called “Ode to Cab Franc” in an attempt to establish her loving relationship with wine (no one should be in a relationship with wine) and simultaneously declare her independence from said wine-love-tangle. At this point, she wonders why she sees all of her life experiences from the frame of reference of a relationship and can’t help but question if her job as a dating columnist for the Branford Patch is starting to control her life….YIKES! Is dating what I do, or who I am? Finally, it’s safe to assume that since this post remained in draft form, the blogger never quit drinking wine or eating carbs.

Draft: Monday, November 14 – Haters Gunna H-A-T-E

This Week’s Dating Column just got its first real unadulterated hate comment.

I’m so freaking stoked. Can  you read it? It’s small. You may have to click on it to read it. Oh, nevermind, if you can’t read it, this is what it says:

bob dugdale (*Editor’s note, I doubt that’s his real name) sounds like a recent college graduate who has no skills and thinks a blog is a job this prattle is garbage

My initial response:

Mr. Dugdale, before you leave a comment criticizing a writer, may I suggest you re-read the section of your elementary school grammar book that covers the capitalization of proper nouns (such as your “name”) and punctuation? If you need a copy editor, please feel free to contact me. I’m not perfect, but I’m hella better than you a-hole.

Then, I took a deep breath and realized that a hate comment was like a golden ticket – I’m going to the proverbial Chocolate Factory of small town dating columnist/hack bloggers! People actually dislike what I write ENOUGH to leave a personally attacking vile comment! I struck a chord with my column about older men foolishly going after younger women and it resonated! So, thank you, Mr. lowercase b-bob lowercase d-dugdale (if that is your real name). Thank you very much.

Field Notes: Ugh, this post could have been great! Silly blogger – letting life get in the way of your opinions about life! Show some self-control and bring your MacBook to bed instead of that glass of wine every night! This one showed some real promise, but you let the timeliness factor expire and now, it just reads like moldy white bread.

Draft: Wednesday, November 16 Untitled

I ball up on the sofa, too cold to turn the heat up in the house.

Sobs wrench my insides apart, each one hurts more than the one before, sparking a new fit.  I’m crying so hard I can’t breath, crying so hard, I can’t think straight.  I’m only certain of one thing: I’m too sad to try and make anything better right now.

The reason: I have to buy four frozen turkeys for work tomorrow.

If you’ve never flirted with the idea of a nervous breakdown, the turkey thing probably doesn’t make any sense to you. Let me just say there is a special kind of epic sadness which settles into your soul and takes hold. I don’t think there is anything you can do to prevent it – you just have to batten down and ride out the storm.

This isn’t the first time this has happened to me.

Field Notes: Really? Turkeys? The blogger obviously wasn’t ready to share her deepest most inner crazy with the world. After not writing for so long, there was no way for her to publish a post detailing a classic symptom of pre-menstrual syndrome. People would have been concerned. They would have called her crazy. Some may have offered words of encouragement. Her mother may have flown out to Connecticut and who knows where that would have led?

Ok, I’m feeling much more caught up now.

So, I’ll delete these draft posts and get cracking on one for Sweet Little Sister Em.