You Should NaBloPoMo This MoFo
File it under “N” for Not Doing This Again Anytime Soon.
There is the distinct sound of internet silence coming up tomorrow as this is the last post for NaBlo… aww, crap. I don’t even want to write it out anymore. The posts have not even just been a “one-a-day” thing because I was trying to make sure I did my Cuppa The Day as well as posting pictures of my shoes. That’s officially three different posts! Even though I didn’t do my Cuppas every day, I did do my shoes. Actually, I started late and I’m sure someone (Chris? Mir? Susan?) will tell me that I owe them a few more days of shoes seeing as there was open lusting after my footwear.
Then, of course, I had to take the dare from a certain someone and title every post beginning with “You Should…”
Aww, crap. I’m even sick of myself at this point. What can be said of daily posting anyway besides the obvious fact that I got to practice my writing? Of course, there is the fact that you now know that I told my mother about my first orgasm and were appalled. Appalled, I tell you! (Not really) Especially amusing to me is that I didn’t describe it here because that story is much better told in person, but that NO ONE ASKED ME TO REPEAT THE STORY. It’s better in person. I do the voices and everything. In any case, should you ever meet me in person I would most definitely tell you the story. Don’t be so prudish. It’s not a pretty color on you. It’s not like you’ve found me in flagrante delicto.
Truly, it is time for some reflection as to what this month has meant to me in terms of writing. Daily writing is quite enjoyable and there are times that call for an in-depth summation of what’s going on. Other times it calls for a tedious litany of events that have no connection whatsoever except for the fact that they are simple observations. [I must interject here to say that I am in the lobby of my hotel using their free wireless that only ranges from the elevators to the bar and an entire Mariachi band just walked by. It's not even 7am] Finally, there are my conversations with friends and family that produce a cackle from me that is now instantly recognized to all who know me as, “Totally bloggable. Must write that down.”
It’s also one of those events that makes you question why you write. For free. It begs the question as to why you put so much effort into it when no one is cutting you a check at the end of the day. This conversation came up when a friend of mine was defending my blog-writing to her husband. She likened it to doing community theatre (Oh, shit. Am I waiting for Guffman?) where people give of their time and energy to put on a perfomance for which they are not paid but get immeasurable pleasure from when it is all said and done. There is applause. There are accolades. There is acknowledgement.
Here, there are comments. There is correspondence. There are connections.
There is also the writing. There is the means of producing psychological relief through an open expression of purgative writing which brings about enormous amouts of emotion and reflection that I’ve only ever done in private journaling. Yet, people comment on it. They have something to say about it. They have their own experiences to share that act as a balm for me. Infinitely more than you may ever know. If not for the connections with readers (whether that’s during this maddening month of frenzied writing or not) then I would surely have been functioning differently. Most likely this would be in equal amounts of bourbon and denial.
So, let me end this month’s writing by saying Thank You for reading. Thank you for commenting and providing tears and laughter. Thank you to those who picked up on something simple I wrote and responded with the sincerest form of flattery: imitation.
You wouldn’t know it by looking at me, but I loved every minute of reading you, too.
And now, I want you to lean in closely and close your eyes and blow me a kiss. I’m taking a much needed break…


