The Promise of Posting Proliferation

It’s 2:09 am, I’ve turned the lamp back up to Brightest from Dimmest, I’ve given in to my hunger pangs and opened a package of Salt & Vinegar Crispers, and the whole neck/shoulder/back region of my body is protesting the positions I’ve forced it into over the past several months as I’ve stayed up late to watch movies and such addictive TV shows as Grey’s Anatomy, Gilmore Girls, and House on my laptop, not to mention a fairly all-consuming addiction to Facebook, however I am so freakin’ inspired by Dooce.com that I must, yes, MUST post something right now!

How completely unacceptable that I have not posted something since (gasp!) Friday (today will be Wednesday). One would think my life was entirely without inspiration, but the reality is that I’ve a) been focusing my creative thoughts elsewhere (I’d post a picture but I haven’t taken any of my new spring cards yet); and b) I’ve been under the perfectionist-tainted and misguided impression that everything I write has to be deep, thought-provoking, and life-changing. I discovered tonight that such is not the case. Thank you, Heather B. Armstrong, for this lesson in professional bloggage: Happiness is… (yes, you have to follow the link).

If someone who supports her family through her blog site can do a 5-word post about poop and call it a day, so the heck can I, I who have no one to support nor any ads paying me anything… yet.

So here I sit, cross-legged on my bed, leaning over my beautiful iBook G4, which rests on a nice fake wood TV tray, at 2:21 am, typing with my left hand and only the ring ringer of my right (can’t count the number of times I’ve hit delete in these last few lines) because of the residual enriched wheat flour and monoglycerides from the Crispers on my index and middle fingers, saying that I hope to become at least a small bit more posting proliferate, being that I no longer expect only to share the thoughts that my family, children (someday), friends, or church would be proud of. Be ye warned.

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