I AM VERY BUSY AND IMPORTANT.
I have a blog? WHA_HUH? When did this happen? Oh, I kid. Sort of. I mean, my memory is failing at a frightening rate. But I do remember that I have a blog, I’m lying when I imply that I forget. What happens is this:
1. I think, “I have a blog!”
2. I think, “Wow, I haven’t blogged for a while.”
3. I think, “Gosh, I should blog, but first I’ll stare at Twitter for 45 minutes and try to remember why I follow this religious zealot who insists on tweeting his every meal.”
4. I feel guilty about not blogging.
5. I feel like I don’t have enough time for a “proper post”.
6. I hate myself a little.
7. I hate myself a lot.
8. I blog something inane that amuses me (and probably only me) and then remember that it is FUN.
8. Conclusion: BLOGGING IS FUN! I LIKE TO BLOG!
But I have no time for fun because, as the title subtly suggests, I AM VERY BUSY AND IMPORTANT. I am. Ask my new agent, Colleen Lindsay, of Fine Print Lit. That’s right, I have a new agent. Confirmation that I am both BUSY. And… IMPORTANT!
That’s from The Rules. In case you didn’t know. Did you ever read The Rules? No? Well, neither did I because, well, of course I didn’t. OK, fine, I did buy The Rules. But it was remaindered and 75 cents and I bought it as a joke and I didn’t read it. Well, I did read a bit of it. And the gist of it was that if you act BUSY AND IMPORTANT then men will love you and somehow, I don’t know exactly how because I skipped all the middle parts, you end up living in a large house in Dallas, Texas, silently seething with resentment because your wealthy now-husband is having an affair with his secretary. Or maybe I’m confusing two books. Bad book mash up, FTW!
I don’t want you to think I bought The Rules thinking I would follow them and earn myself a man to make pot roast and martinis for, I DID NOT. I bought it for someone else. Anyway — and you’ve probably heard this story before, but I’m repeating it anyway — around the time I bought The Rules (for 75 cents!) (remaindered!), I was forced (mostly against my will) to go to Toronto. I like Toronto just fine but I’m a horribly wimpy person who is scared of flying. So there I am, a person who owns The Rules (as a joke!) and who is convinced that she is going to die in a plane crash who has to go to TO. What’s a person to do?
Obviously I became extra-afraid because if I were to die in a plane crash (inevitable) and my family was to clean out my apartment (at the time, I lived in the world’s smallest condo), what if they were to find The Rules sitting there on my bookshelf like I’d bought it intentionally? What if they were to think that I was a person who thought that buying, reading and following The Rules was a good idea? THEY’D BE GUTTED. Destroyed! It would be too depressing to get over. There I am, dead. And there they are, having to come to terms with the fact that I’m not only dead, but when I was alive, I was an idiot. That wouldn’t do.
So what I did was I packed The Rules. Then I thought, “Well, if the plane goes down, the luggage may not burn up in the ensuing fireball and my luggage may be returned to my family and (see: above)…” So I put it in my carry on. Then I thought, “What if I’m getting something from my carry on and the person next to me sees The Rules in my bag and immediately thinks I am the kind of person who reads The Rules?” Then I got anxious. So what I did was, when my seatmate was in the bathroom, I snuck the book out of my carry on and put it in the seat pocket in front of her seat so if they plane DID crash, they (whoever “they” are) would think it was HER book and I would die with my pride intact.
Except not really because there is no small amount of horrifically bad writing on my computer that when I die, someone will likely read. The shame! So actually, what I need is for someone to agree to delete the entire contents of my macbook (except for the pictures, of course) in the event of my sudden demise. Sign up in the comments, please, for this urgent duty.
I leave you with this picture of The Birdy. It has nothing to do with this post. I just like it because it beautifully captures her mood of late, which is something like the eye-rolling haughtiness of a teenager combined with the violent rages of a toddler, plus a hefty dose of cuteness.
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Filed under: Me, Myself and I, Miscellaneous, writing