I love to read other people's blogs. I love to catch whiffs of their lives that way. Blogs are like never-ending Christmas letters, which I enjoy, and let's face it, for all the complaints about Christmas letters, lots of people sure send and presumably read them. The main reason people don't like Christmas letters is that they're often used solely to brag about accomplishments, painting a very unrealistic picture of the author's life.
Well, I was thinking that oftentimes I use the Christmas letter approach in my own blogging. Not that I always brag about myself, because, well, I don't have a lot to brag about anymore. Things have been slow since the second grade when I single-handedly raised 3 million dollars for victims of the Nilte-KIX virus. That's not totally true. I guess there was that family I talked down from a bridge last year (an extended family of 28 people - a reunion gone sour) but believe me, awards and medals tarnish, man. Even ones the U.S. President hands you himself. And lately, I got nothin.'
It's more like this: I mostly blog about positive or interesting things. Interesting to me anyway. But my life is not always positive and my thoughts are often quite melancholy, and some of them might be worth sharing. I just don't have on-demand internet access, and sadness and despair aren't things you can really save up to blog about. So instead, I usually think back over my week or weeks and naturally come up with the highlights, the good stuff - pretty scenery, weddings, oranges giving birth to kumquats.
Tonight I read over my blog from last week where I'd pretty much said, "Good, good, good! Everything is real good! We're so fortunate!" and I wanted to slap myself. I mean, I really was feeling blessed and appreciative when I wrote that, but the truth is that I was being very selective in what I wrote about, because I approach blogging like I do a lot of things: with caution in revealing too much. And I suppose that's fine if I want my blog to be like that, but what if I don't? Huh? What then?
It's kind of hard to be in-betweeny with blogging. You either bare your entire soul with very few filters or you give highlights. I actually like both types, because blogs can be so reflective of the different personalities authoring them, and reading them is like spending time with your various friends. But here's the rub: it seems I'm a highlight blogger, and maybe I don't want to be, see. My most favorite blogs or books or even cereal boxes to read are of those people who are the most honest. Highlights aren't all that honest, or I should say complete, but then, blogging isn't some people's outlet for completeness.
So tonight it's 2:35 a.m. and I am the last one standing in the house. Not greatly unusual for me these days, because sleeplessness is the most evident mark of my pregnancy, as well as the growing lump protruding from my mid-section. I have decided that I will blog about a moment of insanity that happened to me today. Even as I think about writing it, though, I realize it's a highlight. Not all together that soul-baring. Well, that's not true. In the story, I do reveal that I talk aloud to myself. But I'm not really embarrassed by that, so is it a highlight or a show of vulnerability? Crud.
Anyway, here's the story:
I was home alone today, as I am most weekdays when we're in the park. I love solitude, so this isn't a bad thing, but it gives you context. I found myself laughing hysterically over a memory of a conversation from several weeks back. Then my mind trailed, and within 90 seconds I was in literal tears over a contrived scenario in which my daughter (as yet unborn, and as yet unconfirmed to be a daughter) was in our car alone (which we do not yet own) in her car seat (which we have not yet purchased), and the vehicle somehow engaged and rolled into traffic. "Stop!" I yelled in my head to the imaginary oncoming traffic as I ran toward the car. The tears came when the ordeal was over, my baby was safe, and I was thanking the bystanders who had helped.
90 seconds beyond that, I was giving an imaginary speech to the same daughter who, at the age of 5, was arguing with me about calling her by her full name or a nickname. I said with indignation, "I named you! I'll call you Blueberry Shortcake if I want to!" Actually, I didn't say Blueberry Shortcake, but that makes the story funnier. Is that not being authentic? Shoot. But I'm still gonna leave it in there.
I stopped everything right there and realized that I very well might be going coo-coo, spending big chunks of every day alone. Then I thought, "No, when people think they're going insane, they're probably not. One of the marks of true insanity is probably still thinking you're a-okay. And since I'm concerned about losing it, I must be fine." Kind of like when you're a kid and think you might've accidentally committed the one unforgivable sin: blaspheming the Holy Spirit. And they say, "Well, if you're concerned about it, you haven't done it."
Anyway, I was thinking about how funny it was that I had gone through three major emotions in five minutes, when I suddenly heard a hissing noise coming from my laptop and speakers. I had music playing through them, and I didn't recognize that hiss. Maybe it was a piece of machinery outside? No. I was very confused. I got up and walked slowly toward the laptop. As I neared, I realized the sound was coming from the kitchen instead. Oh. I had water on to boil for tea.