Thursday, July 27, 2006
I Think I Figured It Out
I think I know why I've been so prickly and argumentative lately. Okay, more so than usual.
I'm having a baby tantrum inside my head. I'm having a fit. I'm sitting in the corner snivelling and sucking my thumb, like the little left-out kid who finds out she's the only one in the class who's not invited to the party.
You see, BlogHer is this weekend and I wanted to go so badly. . . .
And, I can't. It's too far away and the plane ticket was beyond my nonexistent budget and I can't go, and I know I can't go, and I knew all along that I couldn't go, and yet, here I sit all weepy and rebellious, wishing.
BlogHer is a fantabulous concept: hundreds of people who know each other well, online, will be meeting in person, and learning to love each other even more.
The hotel will be filled with people I love, and they'll all be having fun without me. I want them to have fun, but, but, could you all please give me a kind thought or two while you're laughing and eating and drinking and comparing notes and just generally enjoying each other's company?
Wahhhh.
See what I mean? I am totally childish and ready to cry. It's awful; there is simply no excuse for it. I'm an old woman, and this attitude is ridiculous for anybody over the age of nine.
If I've snapped anyone's head off lately, please forgive me. I'm hormonal and emotional. Excuse me for a moment while I bite the leg off this chair. . . . .
Back. It didn't work; I'm still pissy.
I've only been to California once, several years ago. California is out of my reach.
I know that BlogHer is on the east coast next year. That doesn't help, but it will be good for the people on that coast. My only hope is for the year after, when surely it will be in the middle.
Grace, call me Friday night, 'kay? Put me on speaker phone. I promise not to try to sell Amway or insurance or magazine subscriptions or aluminum siding or warranties for your microwave oven. And everyone, be careful. I'd tell you all not to talk to strangers, but there won't be any strangers at Blogher. . . . .
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Hitting the fan like no one else can. . .
