Every night before I go to sleep and every morning before I get up, I make it my personal mission to read the entire internet. I fail twice a day. One of the things I’ve read is that if you want to be a blogger you should blog once a week.
So I tell myself that I want to be a someone who gets paid to write about wine and cheese, and I remind myself that I need to write some dribble once a week so that I can work towards this goal of being paid to write about wine and cheese. And so sometimes I write posts in my head, but I remember that two of my six readers are my parents, and there are so many things I don’t want them to read about.
Things have been a bit shit lately, and so I’ve been trying not to put too much pressure on myself to write a blog a week, especially because I’m not letting myself write about the shit fight that is my life currently, because that shit fight does not deserve any air time. I know that there is a lesson in all of this mess, but shit, Universe, don’t hate the playa hate the game, and throw me a bone mo’ fo’!
In the past, when life has chewed me up and spat me out, I turn to exercise. Nothing drowns out the sound of your four personalities like the pounding of your heart, the sucking of air into burning lungs and Elton John pumping through the ear buds.
Well talk about kicking me when I’m down, not only is my heart bruised and battered and potentially broken beyond repair, my body has given in to the sickness. So instead I’ve been bed bound with all of my personalities (turns out there’s more than four) watching terrible TV (I don’t know the Netflix login and bugger if I’m going to ask for it!), hocking up pus from my tonsils and praying for death.
It’s time like this I wish I was a dog person, because apparently dogs sense that shit, they would know that I’m frail and fragile and that I might not make it through the night, they would sit with me so I don’t feel alone in this big, bad world, and in the event that I asphyxiated on my tonsil pus I’m pretty sure the right dog would be able to roll me into the recovery position.
I can tell you exactly how many effs my cats give that I am not only experiencing emotional turmoil but also suffering from a potentially deadly virus: zero.
So I’m here, I’m still standing, I’m tripling my dose of Vitamin C, I’m gargling with steeped sage, I’m down, but I’m sure as shit not out, and one of these days I’ll blog about wine and cheese.
In the mean time, because I’ll be riding solo on the couch this winter, I’ve got a new love to introduce you to, available soon for pre-order on the Heart from Hazel website, and utterly amazing…