So there I was. Somewhere between midnight and 1:00am. I would like to convince myself that I stayed up waiting to find out what would show up on Woot! at the beginning of the new day (something I couldn't use, no less). Really, I was sitting there praying, being scared, listening to Acappella and Vocal Union, waiting for my blood pressure to go down.
A little voice inside my head had urged me to check my work email even though it was a Sunday night. And sure enough there was an email response from my supervisor saying that I was "wearying" her. And all of the uncertainty, anguish, anger, confusion, indignation, and thousands of other emotions that had been swimming around inside of me for the past few months - all of those came rushing up at me.
I remember when I was younger, I had been sent out to the trash barrel (55 gallon drum) at my grandfather's house. I was supposed to lite fire to the trash and keep an eye on it for safety reasons. I guess watching a fire burn can be fascinating, but not then. It was the middle of a summer afternoon in West Texas. I already felt like I was on fire. All of the sudden there was a loud noise and a blast that I felt in my little body. My wild imagination told me that a tiny meteor had fallen out of the sky and busted that barrel (I guess I had the sensation of the explosion coming from overhead). What I found out later was that it was an aerosol bottle of Grandma's hairspray that had heated up and exploded. Meteor or hairspray can - it didn't matter. I just felt shocked and scared. And that is how I felt when I read my supervisor's email. *BOOM* What?!?!?! "Oh no, something is very wrong..."
So what was I supposed to do? Panic, as I used to do? Blow it off, which is more of my husband's style? I had no idea. It was too late to go trying on shoes at any place other than Wal-mart (current selection is not to my taste), so I decided to create a blog.
And how, you might ask, does a blog replace shoe shopping in the face of major panic? Well... I always get told, "you should write about it". If I am experiencing something already, why would I want to relive it by writing it out in vivid detail? More than half of the stuff that goes through my head doesn't make any kind of sense. Why would I immortalize that on paper (or pixels)? I hate having to write about my feelings as some sort of therapeutic exercise. That and I am a snob. If you don't write like the literary masters, why bother? (which is just an excuse not to do anything)
But, if you tell me that it might provide some entertainment value for my friends, I might consider it. And a blog would prevent me from spamming the inboxes of my friends. They don't even have to delete whatever my latest drivel is. If they don't want to read it, they just don't go to the blog, right? But some of them will. They will comment and ask me questions. And that is enough of a motivator for a beginning. And if I get some therapeutic benefit out of it, that is good too... just don't tell my counselor, okay?
