By now, you may have figured out that I have a rather loose definition of the word “tomorrow.” However, did you maybe think that I COULDN’T post something for all of the Internet to read, even though I was just totally desperate to do so? Did you think of that? Did you think that maybe I was in the HOSPITAL? I bet you didn’t. And you know what? I WAS. So don’t you feel like a sack of cracks now?
Okay, so, I was only in the hospital from this past Sunday to Wednesday, but you couldn’t possibly have known that. So, you, sack, cracks.
You couldn’t possibly have known I was in the hospital for a couple of days, but you should have assumed that it could have been a couple of weeks, so… look, I’ve kind of lost track of how to make you come out as the bad guy here, you crack.
Awhile back, I got a comment that just put me in a really shitty mood, the kind of “ugh, fuck it,” throwing your hands in the air kind of mood. I have comment moderation set up on my blog, but it only moderates the first time someone comments – I figure if you’re not a dick out of the gate, you’re probably not going to be. At least, probably not an intolerable dick. They tend to make clear what they’re all about right from the jump. Anyway, this is a long way of saying that the comment was caught in moderation, so it wasn’t someone I was familiar with, so you can stop worrying that you’re the one who cheesed me off, because it wasn’t you.
It’s okay if you briefly worried it was you. I think everyone does that. I do that. I mean, when you think about things in the grand scheme of it all, someone talking about one specific person probably isn’t talking about you. What are the chances? So lately I’ve been trying to make a concerted effort to not assume something is about me unless someone directly says, “Hey, ass panda, this is about you.” You know, just like… if it was me, and it was that big of a deal, the person would talk to me. So I assume it’s either not me or it’s not a big deal and whoever is just venting some steam or what have you.
But that’s hard, you know that and I know that. I mean, someone could say, “I wish six foot tall black dudes in priest collars wouldn’t say such offensive shit in Swahili,” and I would be mentally running over all of the things I have recently said that might have been considered offensive because of course that was about me.
Anyway, I’m assuring you, it’s not about you, and I’m also not saying anything about the comment itself or anything, because like I said above, I guess I want to follow the other side of the coin, too – if it is a thing, I should say something to the person involved or maybe it’s just not even a thing. And it’s not a thing. It was a first time comment, not someone who has been around here for a while, unless they used a different email address or whatever, and it wasn’t even… anything. It was a nothing. I mean, yes, it got under my skin, what with the fuck it all and throwing my hands in the air, but it wasn’t anything worth pursuing. I guess it was just a right place, right time kind of thing where it crawled right under my skin and just made me have a kind of disgust for posting at all because UGH. WHY BOTHER. HANDS IN THE AIR. ET CETERA.
Yeah, so, long story not short or relevant, I didn’t post for a while because a random one off comment from a stranger chapped my ass.
This is going to end poorly in about two seconds:
I had this idea that I was going to tell you a little bit about all of the books I’ve read recently, because there’s been a good number of them and a bunch of them have sucked out loud, and I’m not going to lie to you – I enjoy getting especially descriptive about all of the ways I hated a particularly terrible book. Does that make me a bad person? Well, no, probably not, though there may be other aspects of my personality that when ADDED to that fact do indeed total up to bad person, I’m pretty sure taking some delight in outlining the particular terribleness of particularly terrible books on its own is not enough to put me into the category.
But I do want to do that and I will really, truly try to do so soon, but I’m dealing with some medical situation that makes extending typing – or computering – or reading – or televisioning – or most especially OH LAWD FAST FORWARDING THE DVR FETCH ME MY YAKKING BOWL – a bit difficult.
There’s that difficulty, combined with the whole actually having said difficulties, plus some other stresses that, once again I assure you that I’m not going to lie to you, because why WOULD I, it’s not like I have anything to gain from it and besides, the TSA Blogger would probably just post video footage anyway, might delay me in posting again. I’m not well, and we’re preparing to travel next week, and remember how Big P was in the hospital last summer? We knew then that in the future it was possible some decisions would have to be made about how to proceed with her health issues, but we assumed that the future would basically never actually arrive and also that qualified medical professionals would make the decision. But the future is shockingly right now – Penny will be a year old next Sunday, do you even BELIEVE that shit? – and we’ve been tasked with choosing the course of action. And by “we,” I mean Phil and I. And by Phil and I, I mean a couple of idiots.
MAN. You know, you get married and you have a kid, and you get up every day and you go to work or you stay with your kid or whatever you want to do or have to do, and it’s basically the same day to day, and you reach a point in early actual adulthood where you’re like, “Okay, this is life. This is how it goes and we’ll just go on like this. I’m not a rock star and life isn’t a minute by minute adventure like a kid would once assume adulthood might be, but this is how it goes and how it will go and that’s all of it,” and that’s not a depressing thought at all. And I mean that sincerely. But I don’t know if I’m conveying that realization in accurate terms, but I mean the point where you realize that this is all it is – and I don’t mean, “This is all it IS?,” but this is all it is. Does that even make sense?
But I took all that time to explain that, only to say the opposite – time keeps happening and THINGS keep happening, both together. Time happens and the things happen and neither one of those happenings stops for the other. By that I mean, I’m going to lay these plans, the plans to tell you about the books I’ve been reading, but things are happening and time is marching on – A YEAR OLD, YOU GUYS – and even though this is all there is, it’s hard to make promises about something that so recently made you throw your hands in the air, all UGH FUCK IT.