Technology is not my forte. I love words. I love to write. I also like to drive. Cars and computers---wonderful inventions, but if nothing happens when I turn the key, or push the button, I have to get out my bicycle, or search for that bottle of ink I know is around here somewhere. I know nothing about the inner workings of Blogger. I write, I tweak, then I push the magic button. Period.
So when I signed up for NaBloPoMo this year, I was surprised at how easy it was. So easy it I made me uneasy, and I wondered if I'd actually succeeded. The next day I went to the site to see if I was on the blogroll. I started scrolling through the lists: crafts, humour, parenting, psychotic ranting[!!], politics, religion, etc.
To my surprise, there was a category for "s*x." Only two people listed there. Which was no surprise.....You'd have to be nuts! One of the two was "Molly." Hmmm. So, I'm not the only Molly in Blogland. Fancy categorizing your blog thusly! She must be some hot mama! I continued scrolling and came to "general." And found "Molly," and clicked, and sure enough, it was me. So, it really was that simple. Idiot proof.
But curiosity made me go back to investigate that other Molly. Imagine my horror when I clicked and up popped my blog!! I was aghast! How in holy hell did that happen?
In a panic, I shot off an e-mail to the NaBloPoMo person, Eden, explaining my problem and begging her to get me out of there! And then I e-mailed Rise, because I knew she'd get a kick out of something like that..... As long as it was happening to me and not her! But Rise has her nose to the grindstone, plotting 29 more posts, so I got no reply. After all, she is up to her eyes in psychotic dogs, helpless offspring and needy in-laws. And, as icing on life's cake, she now has to come up with twenty nine more things to blog about, none of which are likely to be about s*x! That'll larn her! She probably thought "If Molly wants to specialize, that's her affair. I've got problems of my own."
I'm not getting my knickers in a twist about twenty nine more posts. I'm hearing Rose, my applique teacher, reminding us that the only thing we have to worry about is the very next stitch! So, I'm only going to worry about the very next post. There may be a lot of gibberish, but even gibberish counts, right? As long as I push that "publish" button before midnight.
Meanwhile, I was very anxious to be removed from that "s*x" category! Sure it would increase the number of visitors to my blog, but they would not be the kind I'd welcome! Besides, imagine clicking, and anticipating, then the let down when you find it's only a daft, white haired Irishwoman, waxing poetical about quilting and cats and flowers! They'd probably complain to the authorities about false advertising.....So, this daft, white haired Irish woman doesn't need them.
What if Eden shrugged her shoulders and couldn't change it? After all, there are thousands of bloggers signed up this year. It could be very un-funny. What if there really is an after-life? If The Mag and all the holy nuns are pulling the clouds aside, jostling each other to have a look? Whispering to each other "Oh my! You never can tell! We thought she was such an upstanding character! But, if you remember, there was that unpleasantness with the Penny Dreadful....That might have been an omem!"
Fingers crossed, I waited a while, then checked the blogroll again. Whew! God bless that Eden. No more sign of a Molly in the s*x category. As Rise would say---Amen! Loudly and with feeling!
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Monday, November 02, 2009
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Where Did I Put My Thinking Cap?
Meggie recently nominated me as a thinking blogger. Which made my day. Even if certain lurkers are rolling their eyes and muttering "If they only knew her!" Writing is something I love to do. When I was very little, I remember covering a piece of paper with scribbles and presenting it to the parents for approval. Not being Hollywood caliber actors, all they could manage were weak smiles and puzzled looks. Bummer. Took me a few more years to unlock the riddle of the written word.
I even loved the physical act of writing. Loved dipping the nib into the inkpot and scratching along the page, doing writing exercises in Senior Infants! As an adult, when we lived in Montana, I took calligraphy classes from Denys Taipale, an awesome scribe. The things I loved as a child are the things, I have found, that I've come back to as an adult.
As a quiet, not-quite-the-life-of-the-party teenager I set out to write a Great Novel. But ran into all kinds of roadblocks which could be summarised by the realisation that I needed to live more, experience more, before anything fictional I wrote rang true.
I heartily resented that, of all the English teachers I could have had, I got stuck with Sarge. A diminutive, hatchet-faced nun from England, who regarded us as a bunch of hooligans. She assigned an essay every weekend. While others groaned, I was off and running. Just give me a topic. And when I'd hand it in she'd give me an A, and a pinched smile. Gradually it dawned on me, I could have been writing in SansKrit and I'd still have gotten an A. Or Swahili. Or in the style I'd handed to the puzzled parents so long ago. As long as it had the required number of pages. All Sarge cared about was quantity. Content or quality was irrelevant. Which left me with a sour taste in my mouth. I wasn't much interested in getting an A I didn't deserve.
So off to Dub-a-lin in the green, in the green, to college, and the weekly letters home. In which I spun the trivia of my boring existence into comedy for the entertainment of the folks.
Went to NY, one summer, to work, and met the YC [younger edition of the OC]. When I returned home, more letters to write.....and so it went. Three years here, four years there, make friends, move on, write letters....And all of the friends said "Write, Molly, write!" And I did. And stashed the scribblings under the bed and in the closet,and in the night table drawer.....
When things got turbulent, which they did, and I wanted my mum or dad, who were thousands of miles away, I turned to the best way of dealing with and figuring life out that I knew---pen and paper. And sometimes what I wrote was so vehement, I gouged right through the page. And often the writing was rendered illegible by the angry tears that splashed on it as I wrote. And I often railed at God for permitting me to make the most momentous decisions of my life when I was so young and the clue bag was so empty. How blithely I kissed them goodbye and disappeared over the ocean and the horizon! Never giving a thought to the future, when we'd have children, and that pesky ocean would still be there, between them and their Irish grandparents.
But I scribbled on and we muddled through. And moved . And moved again. And moved some more. And just when you'd think you just didn't have it in you to do it again, you did it again. The only difference between us and the Tinkers is that we wash. And write.
I always viewed computers with suspicion. One memory etched in my mind is of Liz, working into the night to finish a report on The Scarlet Letter. I had read drafts along the way and thought what a clever, insightful girl she was. Finally, the night before it was due, she went to print out the final draft. And the computer made a gulping sound and swallowed it whole. She was distraught. And my distrust of these new-fangled machines was confirmed.
Until, many years later, the same Liz started a blog. And I was captivated, and charmed. Because it made me feel connected to what she was thinking in a way that nothing else did. Not phone calls, not letters. So I had to shelve my reservations and start one of my own.
And found wonderful people I'd never have connected with in a million years by any other means. And now one of them has made reparation for Sarge.......Thank you Meg!
I have no idea how to put the TB logo on here. But I do know how to pass the compliment on. There are some I could name, but hesitate as it might smack of nepotism! This Thinking Blogger thing has been going around for a while, and many of the bloggers I read regularly have previously been nominated. So I would like to nominate Isabelle, Tanya and MJD. They always give me food for thought and another way of looking at things that I might not have come to all by myself...... And I wish them luck with the logo!
I even loved the physical act of writing. Loved dipping the nib into the inkpot and scratching along the page, doing writing exercises in Senior Infants! As an adult, when we lived in Montana, I took calligraphy classes from Denys Taipale, an awesome scribe. The things I loved as a child are the things, I have found, that I've come back to as an adult.
As a quiet, not-quite-the-life-of-the-party teenager I set out to write a Great Novel. But ran into all kinds of roadblocks which could be summarised by the realisation that I needed to live more, experience more, before anything fictional I wrote rang true.
I heartily resented that, of all the English teachers I could have had, I got stuck with Sarge. A diminutive, hatchet-faced nun from England, who regarded us as a bunch of hooligans. She assigned an essay every weekend. While others groaned, I was off and running. Just give me a topic. And when I'd hand it in she'd give me an A, and a pinched smile. Gradually it dawned on me, I could have been writing in SansKrit and I'd still have gotten an A. Or Swahili. Or in the style I'd handed to the puzzled parents so long ago. As long as it had the required number of pages. All Sarge cared about was quantity. Content or quality was irrelevant. Which left me with a sour taste in my mouth. I wasn't much interested in getting an A I didn't deserve.
So off to Dub-a-lin in the green, in the green, to college, and the weekly letters home. In which I spun the trivia of my boring existence into comedy for the entertainment of the folks.
Went to NY, one summer, to work, and met the YC [younger edition of the OC]. When I returned home, more letters to write.....and so it went. Three years here, four years there, make friends, move on, write letters....And all of the friends said "Write, Molly, write!" And I did. And stashed the scribblings under the bed and in the closet,and in the night table drawer.....
When things got turbulent, which they did, and I wanted my mum or dad, who were thousands of miles away, I turned to the best way of dealing with and figuring life out that I knew---pen and paper. And sometimes what I wrote was so vehement, I gouged right through the page. And often the writing was rendered illegible by the angry tears that splashed on it as I wrote. And I often railed at God for permitting me to make the most momentous decisions of my life when I was so young and the clue bag was so empty. How blithely I kissed them goodbye and disappeared over the ocean and the horizon! Never giving a thought to the future, when we'd have children, and that pesky ocean would still be there, between them and their Irish grandparents.
But I scribbled on and we muddled through. And moved . And moved again. And moved some more. And just when you'd think you just didn't have it in you to do it again, you did it again. The only difference between us and the Tinkers is that we wash. And write.
I always viewed computers with suspicion. One memory etched in my mind is of Liz, working into the night to finish a report on The Scarlet Letter. I had read drafts along the way and thought what a clever, insightful girl she was. Finally, the night before it was due, she went to print out the final draft. And the computer made a gulping sound and swallowed it whole. She was distraught. And my distrust of these new-fangled machines was confirmed.
Until, many years later, the same Liz started a blog. And I was captivated, and charmed. Because it made me feel connected to what she was thinking in a way that nothing else did. Not phone calls, not letters. So I had to shelve my reservations and start one of my own.
And found wonderful people I'd never have connected with in a million years by any other means. And now one of them has made reparation for Sarge.......Thank you Meg!
I have no idea how to put the TB logo on here. But I do know how to pass the compliment on. There are some I could name, but hesitate as it might smack of nepotism! This Thinking Blogger thing has been going around for a while, and many of the bloggers I read regularly have previously been nominated. So I would like to nominate Isabelle, Tanya and MJD. They always give me food for thought and another way of looking at things that I might not have come to all by myself...... And I wish them luck with the logo!
Friday, April 06, 2007
The Caged Bird Will Sing Later...
I was in the mood to blog last night. Not quite ready to loosen my grip on the Real Women theme, I rambled on and wrote a long, meandering post. Went back and tweaked the wording here, the grammar there. Hit the publish button and off she went, flying like a bird, out into the blogosphere, in search of readers.
Went to bed happy. "To sleep, perchance to dream." And dream I did! That the Mag, headmistress from my schooldays,[more respectfully known as Sr. Margaret], was looking over my shoulder at what I'd written, shaking her head sorrowfully, and saying to me in her quiet, whispery voice "Not the most suitable subject for Good Friday, eh, Molly dear?" It was a talent she had. An ability to induce shame and guilt in the most innocent child....
"Oh crap! She's right!"
Suddenly I was wide awake and fumbling for my glasses. Stumbling to the computer to clip my birdie's wings. A sigh of relief--- no comments yet---one never knows what hour of the day or night our friends down under are up and stirring....no-one need ever know what a Philistine I was...Opened the window and in she flew. I grabbed her out of the air and stuffed her back in the draft box so fast, and in such a flurry of feathers, she never knew what hit her. I'll keep her there 'til next week when she'll get anoither chance to fly.
Meanwhile, the house is full of the aroma of apple cake for The Bean's [youngest son's] birthday tomorrow. Landmark occasion, he's turning twenty. No more teenagers. Happy Birthday to my "baby", all six foot four of him, and Happy Easter everyone!
Went to bed happy. "To sleep, perchance to dream." And dream I did! That the Mag, headmistress from my schooldays,[more respectfully known as Sr. Margaret], was looking over my shoulder at what I'd written, shaking her head sorrowfully, and saying to me in her quiet, whispery voice "Not the most suitable subject for Good Friday, eh, Molly dear?" It was a talent she had. An ability to induce shame and guilt in the most innocent child....
"Oh crap! She's right!"
Suddenly I was wide awake and fumbling for my glasses. Stumbling to the computer to clip my birdie's wings. A sigh of relief--- no comments yet---one never knows what hour of the day or night our friends down under are up and stirring....no-one need ever know what a Philistine I was...Opened the window and in she flew. I grabbed her out of the air and stuffed her back in the draft box so fast, and in such a flurry of feathers, she never knew what hit her. I'll keep her there 'til next week when she'll get anoither chance to fly.
Meanwhile, the house is full of the aroma of apple cake for The Bean's [youngest son's] birthday tomorrow. Landmark occasion, he's turning twenty. No more teenagers. Happy Birthday to my "baby", all six foot four of him, and Happy Easter everyone!
Friday, March 09, 2007
O Frabjous Day!
It's always nice when a new commenter shows up on your blog. Riseoutofme at http://notimetodonothing.blogspot.com/ showed up on my last post, and as is my wont, I clicked over to check it out. And came up on a blank blogger wall*. Hmmm.
Went away to the garden to cogitate while pulling weeds. Back later to find some jockeying for position in the "Who gets the next quilt" line going on between Aunty Evil and the mystery commenter! Followed by a comment from Detective Liz, who, after careful examination of the scant available evidence [to wit --- ranting --- it's genetic] concluded that it must be one of her siblings. Certainly a possibility. The comments do have a hauntingly familiar ring. Aye. But which sibling?
Back outside to the sunshine to plant some tomatoes. Have I mentioned how beautiful the weather has been here for the last few days?
Thirst drives me back inside just as the telephone rings.
Detective Liz reporting, triumphantly, that she's cracked the case! It is not, as we had surmised, her brother, our Bonny Boy over the ocean, but my sister, her aunt, who also lies over the ocean.
Went away to the garden to cogitate while pulling weeds. Back later to find some jockeying for position in the "Who gets the next quilt" line going on between Aunty Evil and the mystery commenter! Followed by a comment from Detective Liz, who, after careful examination of the scant available evidence [to wit --- ranting --- it's genetic] concluded that it must be one of her siblings. Certainly a possibility. The comments do have a hauntingly familiar ring. Aye. But which sibling?
Back outside to the sunshine to plant some tomatoes. Have I mentioned how beautiful the weather has been here for the last few days?
Thirst drives me back inside just as the telephone rings.
Detective Liz reporting, triumphantly, that she's cracked the case! It is not, as we had surmised, her brother, our Bonny Boy over the ocean, but my sister, her aunt, who also lies over the ocean.
"O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
I chortled in my joy."
My Little Blister has recently acquired a new laptop, to replace the dinosaur with which she had been waging a losing battle. One of the many benefits was that she could finally read my blog and the blogs of all the lovely people who regularly comment thereon. And it was good. And the Blister was happy, for a while. But, being a person of action, just reading was soon not enough . She wanted in. And so, riseoutofme was born.
The really weird thing about this is that my very first post, I write best on a bicycle, back on August 2 nd. 2006, was also about a bicycle! What are the chances?? Skip on over and pay her a visit . You won't be sorry.
*The blank wall is gone. She was still tweaking the setup. Full blogger profile available for your perusal!
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Blogging Comes to the Funny Farm*
*The Funny Farm is the real estate between my ears.
This time last year I had no idea what a blog was. When Liz, my DD, started one, I wrinkled my ancient nose, cocked my ancient head and said "Eh? What's that you say? A blog? What in tarnation be that?" Patiently, she tried to explain. But, as they do in the face of most technobabble, the eyes of the Ancient One glazed over. So, steadying her voice and trying hard to keep the I-don't-have-time-for-this-crap tone out of it, DD sweetly told me to just type in http://notinyourear.blogspot.com and all would be revealed.
Well.
Lights came on all over the Funny Farm that night; rocket ships roared into the wild blue yonder; the farm band broke out in celebratory oompah-pah, oompah-pahs; fireworks razzle-dazzled into the heavens above; a choir of angels sang over the oompah-pahs; all the denizens of the farm jigged and reeled in ecstacy over the fields, and a strange glitter came into the eyes of the Ancient One. A tiny seed had been sown.
It has been mentioned on these pages before how slowly the penny drops down here on the farm. For a full six months I hogged DD's blog. And waxed poetical in her comment box. And pompously opined on every subject she raised. And generally acted the buffoon. Until, one day in mid-July it dawned on me. Mommy needs her own blog.
Because the particular brain cells required for setting up a blog do not live on the Funny Farm, DD wasn't out of the woods yet. With patience and grace and the "assistance" of her smallfry, she set the whole thing in motion. Kind of like getting a kid you know can ride the bike up on it, steadying her for a moment, then giving her a tremendous shove to send her careening off down the hill.
The Ancient One was exhilarated by the wind in her hair as she whizzed over hill and dale. The denizens of the Funny Farm were intoxicated by the fresh air whistling through the ears at the farm boundaries. But elsewhere in the kingdom there was disgruntlement . Down in neighboring Curmudgeonly Hollow mutterings were heard about "this blogging nonsense". Horror was expressed by the youth of the region at the thought of mother, the technologically challenged one, taking over the computer, twiddling buttons at will, and generally increasing the chances of crashes and freezes and such. It was hoped it might just be an ill wind that, given time, would blow over.
So the Ancient One blogged her way randomly through July, August , September and October. She was really starting to enjoy herself. Then NaBloPoMo came along and transformed her from a casual blogger into a rabid blogmaniac. It began to look like the ill wind wouldn't be blowing over after all.
She is holding fast. Nobody will be prying her ancient fingers from the blogbike's handlebars anytime soon. She craves contact with intelligent life forms; more than can be provided in a five minute phone call..... She regularly casts blogbottles upon the waters, and hopes someone finds them on another blogshore, and sends them back with a friendly "Ahoy!"
At first I told myself "I'm doing this for me." Right....... But truly, I am. Because I love to write. I love what happens when I sit here, clueless, and start with a tiny germ of an idea, and it grows, and from the din and clatter of the farmyard, I mold and carve and shape something coherent. But most of all I love it when I throw the bottle out there and it strikes a chord with someone, touches a nerve, tickles a funny bone. I love it when I connect. And that's why I blog. So thank you DD , for bringing blogging to the Funny Farm, and for pushing your ancient mother down the hill on the blogbike. Wheeeee!
This time last year I had no idea what a blog was. When Liz, my DD, started one, I wrinkled my ancient nose, cocked my ancient head and said "Eh? What's that you say? A blog? What in tarnation be that?" Patiently, she tried to explain. But, as they do in the face of most technobabble, the eyes of the Ancient One glazed over. So, steadying her voice and trying hard to keep the I-don't-have-time-for-this-crap tone out of it, DD sweetly told me to just type in http://notinyourear.blogspot.com and all would be revealed.
Well.
Lights came on all over the Funny Farm that night; rocket ships roared into the wild blue yonder; the farm band broke out in celebratory oompah-pah, oompah-pahs; fireworks razzle-dazzled into the heavens above; a choir of angels sang over the oompah-pahs; all the denizens of the farm jigged and reeled in ecstacy over the fields, and a strange glitter came into the eyes of the Ancient One. A tiny seed had been sown.
It has been mentioned on these pages before how slowly the penny drops down here on the farm. For a full six months I hogged DD's blog. And waxed poetical in her comment box. And pompously opined on every subject she raised. And generally acted the buffoon. Until, one day in mid-July it dawned on me. Mommy needs her own blog.
Because the particular brain cells required for setting up a blog do not live on the Funny Farm, DD wasn't out of the woods yet. With patience and grace and the "assistance" of her smallfry, she set the whole thing in motion. Kind of like getting a kid you know can ride the bike up on it, steadying her for a moment, then giving her a tremendous shove to send her careening off down the hill.
The Ancient One was exhilarated by the wind in her hair as she whizzed over hill and dale. The denizens of the Funny Farm were intoxicated by the fresh air whistling through the ears at the farm boundaries. But elsewhere in the kingdom there was disgruntlement . Down in neighboring Curmudgeonly Hollow mutterings were heard about "this blogging nonsense". Horror was expressed by the youth of the region at the thought of mother, the technologically challenged one, taking over the computer, twiddling buttons at will, and generally increasing the chances of crashes and freezes and such. It was hoped it might just be an ill wind that, given time, would blow over.
So the Ancient One blogged her way randomly through July, August , September and October. She was really starting to enjoy herself. Then NaBloPoMo came along and transformed her from a casual blogger into a rabid blogmaniac. It began to look like the ill wind wouldn't be blowing over after all.
She is holding fast. Nobody will be prying her ancient fingers from the blogbike's handlebars anytime soon. She craves contact with intelligent life forms; more than can be provided in a five minute phone call..... She regularly casts blogbottles upon the waters, and hopes someone finds them on another blogshore, and sends them back with a friendly "Ahoy!"
At first I told myself "I'm doing this for me." Right....... But truly, I am. Because I love to write. I love what happens when I sit here, clueless, and start with a tiny germ of an idea, and it grows, and from the din and clatter of the farmyard, I mold and carve and shape something coherent. But most of all I love it when I throw the bottle out there and it strikes a chord with someone, touches a nerve, tickles a funny bone. I love it when I connect. And that's why I blog. So thank you DD , for bringing blogging to the Funny Farm, and for pushing your ancient mother down the hill on the blogbike. Wheeeee!
Thursday, November 30, 2006
The Writingly Way.
For as long as I can remember I have loved to write. One of my earliest memories is of covering a page with indecipherable squiggles and proudly showing it to my father, sure that his heart would swell with pride at my cleverness. And of course it did.
The nuns were another story. We toiled, in Senior Infants, to get our upstrokes light and our downstrokes dark, or risk an ear-wigging from Sr.Mary. Good work was rewarded with a gold star, but just because you had a few gold stars, and no blots on your exercise book, didn't mean you should go getting notions about yourself. If, God forbid, you should begin to think you might be above average, Sr. Mary's caustic tongue would soon set you straight. Let us now lower our eyes and be humble!
In secondary school, Sarge (aka Sr. Bridget) always gave me top marks for my essays, but she seemed to judge them on length, rather than content, when I had the temerity to think the content was pretty good. But that was an opinion best kept to myself, given the importance of the above mentioned virtue of humility. Writing well was seen as a tool to help us do well in other areas, not as an end in itself. I continued to write, and hide what I wrote, and feel apologetic about it, though once in a while a piece would come out just right and I'd smile and get notions that would have earned me an ear wigging from Sr. Mary.
When I was safely out of reach of the nuns I started writing letters, to my parents every Friday night from college; to my friends and relatives after I married and moved to America; to friends I left behind each time we moved and even, sometimes, to a few of my favorite nuns! The parents were glad I was still alive and coping; the nuns were delighted to hear from me but cautious about giving out gold stars. My friends were the ones who wrote back saying "Write more!" That's what friends are for I guess.
Even though my years of scribblings are a disorganized mess of notebooks, letters and journals I continue to cope with life by writing it down, finding just the right word or phrase, and delighting in it when it all comes together well. If nothing else they'll be a trip down memory lane for my children when I'm gone, proof that I was not just their mom but a real person of my own.
In looking back I'd like to thank a lot of people, if not for encouraging me, then for at least providing me with ammunition for my pen.
- My mother, who always dressed me in sensible laced up shoes, when my peers were wearing cool slip-ons, and for keeping my hair short when I longed for flowing locks;
- Stephanie M in 5 th. grade who made it her mission in life to disavow me of the notion that babies were found under cabbages;
- Sr. Margaret Ryan in 6 th. grade who got to my Dad before me with some very exciting news, thereby cheating me of the thrill of telling him myself;
- My brother for how he behaved at school, causing me endless embarrassment;
- Tommy O'Conner in 10 th grade for turning and fleeing when he landed in front of me at a Paul Jones dance at the Jesuits;
- George R, whom I worshipped from afar in H.S. for never even acknowledging my existence;
- Des O'M for being a gentleman and not taking advantage of my vast ignorance in the realm of what it is boys really want from girls;
- All the guys at all the dances in Dublin who never asked me to dance;
- The Old Curmudgeon for being the Old Curmudgeon;
- My children for making me grow in directions I never thought I could; for teaching me that they were not just chips off the old block but, intelligent, unique and beautiful people in their own right; for surviving my muddled attempts to do it right and, as often as not, getting it wrong anyway;
- To all the advice columnists who repeated over the years that "to have a friend you've got to be a friend;"
- To those friends I made by following that advice, who love me just the way I am, unlike some who continuously find me wanting;
- And most of all to those friends and family who think it is worthwhile to sort life out in a writingly sort of way and have encouraged me in my efforts to do so.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Mary Had a Little Blog
I love coffee. I love that it kicks me awake in the morning. And I love NaBloPoMo. I love that it makes me do what I want to do anyway---write---and no procrastinating. But too much of either gives me the jitters. Got my post done late last night. Was about to hit publish when " glug....", horrors! my post disappeared. Once I'm done and ready to hit that P button, we're only five minutes away from me having no recollection of what I wrote. I had to work fast to catch the coattails of what I'd written before it galloped off into oblivion. I like to think of this phenomenon as my brain's way of decluttering.......Some, however , say it's CRS syndrome. Can't Remember......yeah, that's it.
So I wondered if I might give my brain a rest tonight and recite some nursery rhymes. How about
"Mary had a little blog, oops, I mean lamb," or
"Mistress Mary, quite contrary, how does the blogging go? " or
"If you should see a blogophile, don't take a stick and poke him," or
"Little Jack Horner sat in the corner, writing his blog on the sly..." or
"Little boy blue come write your blog," or
"Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to see if her blog was there,"or
"A diller, a dollar, a ten o'clock blogger,
What makes you blog so soon?
You used to blog at ten o'clock
But now you blog at noon." or
" Little Bo Peep has lost her mind
and doesn't know where to find it;
Leave it alone and it'll come home
Dragging her blog behind it." or
'Three blind mice, three blind mice,
See how they blog, see how they blog;
They all ran after NaBloPoMo
But wrote, sad to say, too slow, slow, slow
Did you ever see such a show, show, show
As three madly blogging blind mice."
I think I'll go to bed now. And in the morning I'll be having tea for breakfast........with tranquilizers.
According to Webster's ---
Addiction: enthusiastic devotion, strong inclination, or frequent indulgence. Obsession: the act of a devil or a spirit in besetting a person or impelling him to action................any questions?
So I wondered if I might give my brain a rest tonight and recite some nursery rhymes. How about
"Mary had a little blog, oops, I mean lamb," or
"Mistress Mary, quite contrary, how does the blogging go? " or
"If you should see a blogophile, don't take a stick and poke him," or
"Little Jack Horner sat in the corner, writing his blog on the sly..." or
"Little boy blue come write your blog," or
"Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to see if her blog was there,"or
"A diller, a dollar, a ten o'clock blogger,
What makes you blog so soon?
You used to blog at ten o'clock
But now you blog at noon." or
" Little Bo Peep has lost her mind
and doesn't know where to find it;
Leave it alone and it'll come home
Dragging her blog behind it." or
'Three blind mice, three blind mice,
See how they blog, see how they blog;
They all ran after NaBloPoMo
But wrote, sad to say, too slow, slow, slow
Did you ever see such a show, show, show
As three madly blogging blind mice."
I think I'll go to bed now. And in the morning I'll be having tea for breakfast........with tranquilizers.
According to Webster's ---
Addiction: enthusiastic devotion, strong inclination, or frequent indulgence. Obsession: the act of a devil or a spirit in besetting a person or impelling him to action................any questions?
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