This is me feeling sorry for myself. It’s not an unusual routine, it’s just that I don’t write about it often.

And do you know WHY I don’t write about it often? Because I hate those bloggers who write sticky sweet posts with fabulous pictures and happy, happy, joy, joy posts about the greatest things on the planet (things like sweet potato fries or really comfortable shoes that also look incredibly fashionable) and then they pour out their hearts about the horrible, terrible, no good, very bad thing that happened to them and everyone comes rushing to their aid in the form of a thousand comments of “Hang in there, kid!” and “You don’t deserve this!” It all makes me wonder about the whole karma thing. I don’t think about it all that often, but recently a friend of mine asked if I could do something with her and I couldn’t because there were things pressing on me. There were other responsibilities. And then I mentioned to my friend, named Susan, that I also had to take care of my mother. “You know, you’re going to get some really good karma from doing that.”

Later, that same week, I had the Orkin folks come out and take a look at my new house because we must have brought every bug known to man into this place when we moved it including, dare I say it, las cucarachas, which are just about the most disgusting form of insect ever especially when you step on them barefoot in your living room and then you have to cut off your foot because cleaning it with acid just won’t do the trick and hey, this one footed look is all the rage in France, isn’t it?

The other reason I don’t write about the woe-is-me blog post is that there are really strange people reading my blog. Not YOU, but there are others. Weird in the way that I either work with them or they know me from my previous church or they are just nosy but not at all invested in my life. When I moved to this house it seemed like the entire neighborhood knew I was coming. “Oh, I heard you bought that house!” someone said to me. It made me remember that this is a small town and that people talk. Truly, this is a wonderful area, don’t get me wrong. But I’ve already seen a neighbor fall over drunk in front of me and smack her head on the pavement in front of my house. Twice. No lie. In fact, my favorite person who lives near me is a darling Indian woman who gasped when I told her what I did for a living and said, “Oh, my goodness! I cannot believe I am talking to an assistant principal! This is so very wonderful!” It’s not that she’s impressed with my position, but she instantly was warm and welcoming and asked if I liked to eat samosas and didn’t strike me as the gossipy kind. Plus, she always says “Hello, Kell-y!” to me in a sing-song voice with her perfect English sprinkled with her adorable and quite likable Indian accent.

Oh, and another thing for people-who-know-me-and-read-me-but-don’t-really-talk-to-me: if I use an alias on the blog here and then you bring up a story to me in person and use the alias and not the real name but then you tell me that you don’t really care about my blog and that’s why you don’t read it then I’m going to have to call bullshit on you. I will also think you’re a creeper. Stop doing that. It’s silly.

Oh, and one more thing about that since I’m in the mood to address it. Maybe you should stop talking about how you’d like to invite me to things because of my online Internet presence and about all the good I can do for you or your organization because stuff like that does get back to me and it makes me feel used. And don’t pray for me to use my blog for Jesus. Yeah. I heard about that one, too.

Back to karma, shall we? So, the Orkin guys points out that I have some mold and rotten drywall in the basement and see here? This thing? It’s a hole that’s starting to form and it’s getting bigger, you might want to have that checked out. This leads to a panicky Who do I call for such a thing? Is this a cosmic joke? Buy a new house and have to fix this already! but then I calmed down after snorting a line of crayon dust (the color was cerulean, I knew you might ask me that question) and realized that this is probably because of the air conditioner which I am running at all times and the previous owner didn’t really run at all so this is where the condensation is building up. (Much as I would love to proofread this post and take out all the run-on sentences I will certainly NOT do that right now.) Let me just shorten this next part:

1. Contractor/fixer-upper guy comes in. It’s condensation. Buy a dehumidifier and empty that sucker daily.

2. Pull down drywall. Oh, look! The rubber hose around the pipe has little teeth marks! You have mice!

3. Fix, re-rubber piping, put up new drywall, sand, paint, voila!

Karma also got me for teasing my son about the vaginal itch cream because the very next day I got bitten by a buffalo gnat right next to my eye which then created a cellulitis and I had to go to the doctor to get put on an antibiotic just in case and the whole left side of my face looked about 20 years older than the right side.

Karma: Take THAT!

Me: Okay. You win.

Besides the fact that I’m singing “La Cucaracha” around the house now and trying to squeeze in all sorts of fun things for my super short summer month, I am regrettably unable to attend BlogHer in New York. I already have the ticket to get into the conference, but no easy way to get there and pay for an expensive hotel. There’s no point in expressing how sad this makes me because I badly want to see people and get/give hugs to people who have become such good friends. My only excuses are las cucarachas y ratones and caring for a sick parent and paying for an expensive divorce that still isn’t settled yet and a new house payment. I’m thinking of how funny (just not Ha! Ha! funny) it is that I wrote this nearly a year ago about saving money and not begging for sponsorship to attend blogging conferences and here I am making the responsible decision. I will go ahead and quote myself from that post: I simply cannot go.

Karma just isn’t all that funny.

In any case, I have to say a thousand thanks to my readers. Because you have understood and silently encouraged and written lovely emails meant to cheer me up for dealing with a broken marriage and a newfound previously-placed-for-adoption daughter and two new promotions at work that made blogging super difficult and moving into a new house and losing my grandmother and still trying VERY hard to be positive and honest in this writing space. I’ve not always wanted this to be the journal that it’s slowly becoming but I’ve learned that I don’t want to be in that club of greedy bloggers and wannabes and drama queens.

All that was to say thank you for understanding when I can’t write it all down. When I have to keep personal things personal and not puke out feelings that I have to sort through here. Thank you for sticking around and making me still love this place. A place where I can’t do certain things. All the things I cannot say. All the words that won’t come out right and will be misunderstood or used against me. All the general bullshit about how hard my job is to write about except in a generic sense to protect the people I work with and the students I service and the families I come in contact with.

Really. I mean it. Thank you.

You finally had that sex change operation?

The FBI relocation program has finally sold you out?

You’re going to seriously consider becoming a roadie with a magician?

Your parole is up.

None of those would be true. But I do have a new thing! It’s a really cool thing! It’s just that I can’t talk about it until Tuesday. In the meantime, did I forget anyone’s birthday? Did you ever find your wallet? I know you were looking for it. Oh, have you seen Slumdog Millionaire? Yowza with the awesomeness! (Somewhere my creative writing teacher is dying a thousand deaths. If you clap for her like you would for Tinkerbell maybe she’ll come back to life.) Would you consider purchasing these BitterSweets for your loved one this Valentine’s Day? What did you think of the Grammy Awards? Isn’t M.I.A. just a hot mess waiting to happen?

I can say something about this soon. It’s a really cool thing. Do you want to hit me yet? Don’t please. It’s terrible that I can’t even give you a useless clue. Oh! Remember the game Clue? Anyway, be patient. You’ll like it. It’s mmm minty.