I Never Was There When Brains Were Handed 'Round
The ever-prolific Anonymous askes: Wait...you want questions that make you sound like an idiot?
Not exactly. It's just that answering questions where I sound polished and composed, the captain of my destiny, a paragon of some corner of womanhood, are very, very hard to do. This is because I'm happier noticing what I just screwed up. This is possibly because I was at my most famous during the Mean Girl years of education and middle-school girls have very little patience with any fame which isn't theirs. In my head dwells a permanent seventh-grader, sneering at me and hissing "You think you're so great."
She's wearing a Lacoste shirt, Clinque lip gloss and K-Swiss tennis shoes, in case you're curious.
This blog was based, from the beginning, on the idea that the minute I get some sense of confidence about how I'm doing anything which really matters-- like, say, parenting -- I will do something loudly idiotic in public to remind me that, yes, I'm not really so great. I'm fine. I'm intermittently good. Sometimes I'm wonderful. But never let it be said I think I'm great.
Besides, it's more fun to write about the broken bits than the shiny parts. Writing about the shiny parts goes something like:
Here's this thing which is wonderful. Amazing, actually. And...it's mine.
(Silence.)
(Panicked silence.)
Um...did I mention how amazing it is? I did? Oh.
Broken bits? Well, I can get a whole blog out of sexing cats. And there's the pleasure of, during the heights (or depths) of some idiocy of mine, my brain coos "Patience, my pet. This is going to make an excellent anecdote later." And that voice in my head does a glorious job of drowning the mean girl.
Reminder: I'm still taking questions! Ask me a question in the "Comments" section and I'll put in in the pile of possibles for the next 18 days.
Not exactly. It's just that answering questions where I sound polished and composed, the captain of my destiny, a paragon of some corner of womanhood, are very, very hard to do. This is because I'm happier noticing what I just screwed up. This is possibly because I was at my most famous during the Mean Girl years of education and middle-school girls have very little patience with any fame which isn't theirs. In my head dwells a permanent seventh-grader, sneering at me and hissing "You think you're so great."
She's wearing a Lacoste shirt, Clinque lip gloss and K-Swiss tennis shoes, in case you're curious.
This blog was based, from the beginning, on the idea that the minute I get some sense of confidence about how I'm doing anything which really matters-- like, say, parenting -- I will do something loudly idiotic in public to remind me that, yes, I'm not really so great. I'm fine. I'm intermittently good. Sometimes I'm wonderful. But never let it be said I think I'm great.
Besides, it's more fun to write about the broken bits than the shiny parts. Writing about the shiny parts goes something like:
Here's this thing which is wonderful. Amazing, actually. And...it's mine.
(Silence.)
(Panicked silence.)
Um...did I mention how amazing it is? I did? Oh.
Broken bits? Well, I can get a whole blog out of sexing cats. And there's the pleasure of, during the heights (or depths) of some idiocy of mine, my brain coos "Patience, my pet. This is going to make an excellent anecdote later." And that voice in my head does a glorious job of drowning the mean girl.
Reminder: I'm still taking questions! Ask me a question in the "Comments" section and I'll put in in the pile of possibles for the next 18 days.
posted by Unknown at 4:18 PM
3 Comments:
I lovr your olde English "askes."
And of course love even more the fact that I haven't yet learned NOT to type in blog comments on my lovely iPad, where typos proliferate and sometimes embarrass.
Why does Consort suddenly have a name? I re-read a paragraph mentioning "Daniel" four times trying to figure out who this person could be.
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