This is what happens: I start out the week thinking, I'm going to post every day! On my happy happy blog! And all my nice readers will respond and we'll have a great dialogue going and then we'll all get together for s'mores!
You should know that my mind is crammed with exclamation points as well as flights of fancy that end in all of us making s'mores.
Did you all grow up making s'mores with your family? I do not recall making s'mores, ever. Which is odd because my mother has this strange, obsessive love of marshmallows. This is the kind of thing I would bug her about when I was right out of college and had just started therapy. "WHY DIDN'T WE EVER MAKE S'MORES," I would demand in another late-night post-emotional-revelation phone call. "I JUST THINK I WOULD BE HAPPIER IF WE HAD BEEN A S'MORES-MAKING KIND OF FAMILY."
Yes, so. I have all these high hopes for my blog, but then it's one of those weeks—those dreaded weeks when exactly nothing happens. Plus, could it be a more nondescript time of the year? I mean, maybe it's your birthday or it's the day you won that triathlon or the week you fell in love or found your pet possum or I don't know what. For me, anyway, this is pretty much the kind of week where all I can do is hunker down and wait. Especially when it snows--that's just insulting. We're gearing up for spring, and you're going to give us snow? Fuck you. Fuck you, weather. Yeah, you heard me. Fortunately (FOR THE WEATHER), the snow went away, and now we're left with this bitter cold—and oh, crap, I'm talking about the weather. Do you see? Do you see what I have spared you?
So then when my non-posting becomes, like, a thing , a thing in my twisted mind, my imagined readers grow restless, then hostile, and I think, I can't write just any old crap, I have to make it up to them, I have to hit it out of the ballpark, and then I picture my readers growling (you growl, in my mind) and shaking your s'mores sticks at me (are there sticks, when you make them? See, I don't even know) and demanding quality entertainment. This, of course, leads to total paralysis. Which then leads to this, my mortified re-entrance, my shuffle out onto the stage as you're all filing out, throwing your programs to the ground in disgust. Wait, don't leave! I've got a little number all worked out!
But enough about me. How's your week been? I've missed you.