I ought to be funnier.
I live a pretty crazy life. I have five kids who do very nutty things. They take after their father. (Yes, Steve, that would be you.) The lick dogs, they dump crayons down furnace vents, they sit on their siblings heads. They are all out funny. I should be able to tell their stories. Sometimes I manage it in my scrapbooks. Mostly I manage a nice paragraph using all my vast journalism experience from the eighth grade newspaper. I believe they let me do the lunch menu.
Instead, you, my dear blog readers, (all three of you,) get to be subjected to my personal angst, my musings on crazy stuff and my crazy compliment fishing expeditions. What’s on the lunch menu today? More posting of silly pictures that make me look like I’m trying out for a job with a commercial photographer? More discussion on laundry? (What a thrill!) More pointless essays on strange topics? NAFTA? (That’s for you, Steve.)
Actually, (I’m sure you’ve been waiting for a point here. I don’t have one.) today my angst is directed to my invisibility. I read several blogs. Many of them are written by people I’ve actually worked with in the past. I briefly was on the same design team with Donna Downey. (Alert! Alert! It’s a dropped name! Watch your toes!) There are a few others I worked with as well. They moved on a lot sooner than I did, and to much bigger things and I didn’t keep in touch. So I read their blogs in my voyeuristic style and never post. I’m too afraid they will look at my comment and say “who the heck is that?!” yup. Invisible.
Just wish it worked like that at home, ya know? Who’s going to do the laundry? Hmmmmm, no mom here. Guess someone else will have to pick up the slack.