Smoke and asses and mirrors; that’s what little bloggers are made of.

Mah balance. I haz lossed it.

I blame NahNoMoFoMe.

It is just so hard to write every single day. I worry that I’m going to lull you into a state of unconsciousness. I worry that I’m going to lull MYSELF into a state of unconsciousness. And the more inept I feel, the less I want to write.

Between writing posts, reading blogs, commenting, fussing with my blog design, and twittering, I’m spending way too much time in front of the computer. I haven’t cheated and backdated any posts. But is it worth my brain disintegrating in a fiery hell of SUCK?

My Google Reader is so voracious, I can barely keep up with it. I haven’t cheated and ‘Marked as Read’ a single post without a least giving it a good skim, and at most reading then clicking over to comment. But is it really worth it reading until my eyeballs fall out and roll around on the floor picking up dust bunnies and/or my family has put my face on the back of milk cartons?

I’ve worked on my blog design for at least a few hours this month. At first I was just kind of sprucing up the place. Well, then it did actually crash once, and I never did figure out why. I had to deactivate every plugin and reactivate a few at a time, and then rebuild everything including the Tabbed Widgets as I lost all my text widgets in the crash. I like it better now than before the crash, but was it worth 47 days of my eyes being stabbed by those little drink swords crossed by code?

My house projectile vomited all over itself. Some of the laundry came up the stairs and tapped me on the shoulder and politely inquired as to when it might expect for an estimated time of washing. Coincidentally, Hunky walked up to me and announced that if a load wasn’t done tonight, he was going commando tomorrow. (Hint: He’s not currently enlisted in any of the Armed Services.) Then I opened the fridge, and either the boys have been doing more fancy science experiments than I ever conducted, or I believe it’s time to throw out some leftovers. My kitchen floor is so filthy, I can’t come up with hyperbole outrageous enough to do it justice. I’ve been slacking around here and it’s really not fair to Hunky.

I haven’t been giving my job hunt the priority it deserves. I’ve been applying for jobs, but not near enough. I’ve been temping, but it’s never a full week, and never more than I would get for an unemployment check. So by the time they take my earned wages off of my unemployment check, I’m making the exact same amount as I would have sitting my ass at home on the couch watching movies and collecting full unemployment. But my unemployment benefits are about to run out, and at this point, I have to start applying for shit I really don’t want to do to pay the bills.

I haven’t completed a single book in the month of November, and that is SO not like me. That’s like Martha saying, “I haven’t carved a single gourd into lovely… ” Turkey booties? I don’t know, honestly; I don’t watch her show.

I have at least three picture collage frames that I’ve bought but I haven’t ordered the prints to go in them. I rilly, rilly want to finish cleaning my basement so I can set up a place down there to have all my craft crap in one place, and a small rec area with TV, DVD, VCR, and PS2. I want to go out into the neighborhood and take more pictures. I want to kick Manual Mode’s superior, snarky, smarmy ass. I want to set up an Etsy shop for my photography. I haven’t done any sewing (unless you count me sewing that patch onto Kizzle’s hockey jersey) and I miss it. I want to cut out more squares for the boys’ t-shirt quilts, because they’ve actually been asking for them. Every time they outgrow a t-shirt they’re particularly fond of, they ask, “But I’ll see it again in my t-shirt quilt, right?” Well, yes, but at this rate, it may be your high school graduation gift, if we’re lucky, son.

I just want a magic pill that gives me an extra 12 hours in a day.

I saw a commercial for something like that, where this chick was just, like, on her hands and knees scrubbing her kitchen floor, obsessively lining up the throw rug fringe, and cleaning the bathroom tile with a toothbrush… What was the name of that stuff?

I wish I could remember…

Oh, yeah!

METH.

So, yes, I know they already make them and they’re called Methamphetamines, but I’ll pass, thanks.

No, just a little pill that will grant me a spare half day, with no nasty side effects such as my teeth falling out of my head, over-obsession almost to the point of insanity, [;/'''reeeeeeeee Emma just walked across my keyboard and she wanted to share that] insomnia on steroids+HGH and vitamin supplements; oh, and an addiction more powerful than heroin. OOOooo, can you make them with no side effects and make ‘em taste like Mike & Ike’s? That’d be groovy, dude.

I just need to make the scale swing the other way. I need to spend less time in front of the Mac, and more time investing in my family. I want to complete the NahNoMoFoMe thing, then take a couple steps back and reassess to admit I’m not make sure I’m spending my time as wisely as I can. I know I can do better than I’ve been doing.

But we have a more dire issue presently.

Mah funneh. I haz brokeded it.

I’ve been looking over the last few months and for the most part, I’ve felt disappointed with the quality of the word dance I’ve pushed out onto my little stage here. I’ve wondered and pondered and obsessed and worried that I’d lost it. My voice.

I almost allowed myself to forget why I’m doing this.

I was reading writers way out of my league and starting to think that as good as they are, made me worse.

I was frustrated with throwing myself into trying to find my connections with the blogoshere and starting to think that as popular as they are, made me less lovable.

I was watching my feedcount a little too closely, and trying to figure what I might have written that would explain a drop from 25 to 9 in one day, and was starting to think that as fickle as they are, made me less interesting.

I was reading pro blogger tips and was starting to think that as successful as they are, made me more of a failure.

I caught myself starting to whine, “Why don’t I have H8Rs and Trolls and obnoxious Anonymousi spitting their venom all over my comments?”

Then I pulled my head out of my ass.

This is MY casa.

I reminded myself that the writer I needed to be comparing myself to, and constantly challenging, was myself. I need to push my own limits, and refine my own voice. I haven’t lost my voice; I’ve just suffered a little laryngitis.

I’ve got to write for first of all, myself; to dare myself to push my talent harder and longer and stronger. (That made me feel a little bit dirty just then, how about you?)

And second of all, all of you, my Innernetz Budz; to make you laugh a little bigger, forcefully spew a little more raspberry mocha cappuccino in your keyboard, think a little longer, feel a little more connected, and care a little more.

And if the big girl (and boy) bloggers never notice me, that’s got to be ok.

As small a world as it is, Dooce will never be my non-practicing lesbian lovah complete with matching decoder rings. Someone told me she was just a mythical hobbit, and I know she’s not, but she might as well be Angelina Jolie for all it will change my life. Ree will never invite me out to her ranch to work cattle with MM and the punks and give me one-on-one photography lessons.

I will try to write as strikingly as Black Hockey Jesus and as unabashedly as Avitable and as bitingly witty as The Bloggess; but if I never do, that’s got to be ok.

And damn the page views and subscriber count. I’m thankful for how much I’ve honed my writing talent to this point, and will continue to spin the mental Thesaurus and dig a little deeper. I’m grateful for each and every comment you guys grace me with, and will continue to enjoy connecting with you.

I hope I’m not blowing smoke up my own ass.

I hope you all notice the difference.

But if you don’t, as long as I’m doing my best, that’s got to be ok.

6 thoughts on “Smoke and asses and mirrors; that’s what little bloggers are made of.”

  1. Yeah, people get so wrapped up in keeping up (Reader, commenting, twittering, etc) they forget to write quality posts. I have found that to be true across the board. Sounds like you’re getting your priorities straight, and that’s so important. Comparison is the devil.

    maggie, dammits last blog post..Wisconsin

  2. Dory, my dear, (if I may call you that after one email exchange) you need to chill out. Just reading your list of duties is exhausting!

    I know how things can build up. And, being a depressive, I know how things can slowly weight you down over time.

    I get bummed very easily because I’m still new to this blogging thing (started in July) and all these other blogs that have been around longer have so many more readers. It’s ridiculous and I know it but my ego tells me I should have at least as many as a few of them.

    It gets hard to think of new content sometimes. So I don’t try to post every day. I can’t do it. Not with my fatigue issues.

    And while you’re not plagued with chronic fatigue, by the time you get through just your basic chores (keeping a house filled with four men) and looking for work and blogging… You may have ACFS (Acquired Chronic Fatigue Syndrome)! In other words, fer cryin’ out loud woman! Take it easy on yourself!

    OK, now that I’ve belittled my disability, I gotta say: You have way too much on your plate. I would highly suggest one of my mom’s favorite tricks: Breaking it up into manageable slices.

    This is a common suggestion, but hear me out:

    Pick a chore, like laundry
    Set your cell phone or whatever for 20 minutes.
    Do as much sorting or cleaning or whatever as you can for that time.
    But when the time’s up, you stop.

    If you know you only have to do 20 minutes of cleaning, you won’t dilly dally and you’ll be shocked how much you can get done.

    My husband and I tend to blitzkrieg our house. I’ll start picking up our clothes which lie lazily crumpled on the floor. (They never pick themselves up, the moochers!) And so he’ll take the hint and start helping me pick up. Then I’ll set off to do something else, like the bathroom sink, and he’ll either start vacuuming or ask me which chore I prefer he focus on. With our combined efforts, we can bang out a pretty clean apartment in under an hour. Granted, we leave the bedroom for another day entirely because we’re not masochists. But the areas that people SEE are clean!

    Just remember when you start to get down on yourself that you’re not doing enough, or whatever, that you’re doing the best you can in that exact moment and it’ll have to do until the family decides to help out or hire you a maid.

    Abigails last blog post..Carnival love

  3. 1. I totally want some turkey booties. And some meth.

    2. Your blog is awesome and you are way too critical of yourself, which actually pushes you to write even better so that’s a good thing.

    3. If I had a ranch I would totally invite you over.

  4. @City Girl:
    One of these days we need to get us AND our drugs together! lol God bless Lorazepam!

    @maggie, dammit:
    “Comparison is the devil.” Amen, sister; and thanks for the moral support. :) For the record, I consider you a Big Girl Blogger, and I’m so flattered that you tolerate my drivel. :)

    @Abigail:
    But of course you may! I can’t wait until NahNoMoFoMe is over. I’ll go back to posting about 4 times a week and my house will be a little bit cleaner.

    @Jenny, Bloggess:
    1. Me, too!
    2. *blushes* Um, like, thanks and stuff. For the record, I consider you a Big Girl Blogger, too, and it totally made my whole day when you commented. :) BHJ and Adam stopped by, too, so that was pretty groovy. And I’m sure they would’ve commented, but maybe their asses were on fire or something and they were in too much of a hurry. Can we send your snake to their blogs? I bet it would bite them both in the ass.
    3. Someday I’ll buy a ranch and invite YOU over. I think we should mix Meth, bottle rockets, and a big ol’ tractor. That’d be hawsum!

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