For Mike K (who thinks crocheting is not "hot")

Okay, so I leave an innocent "what are you doing right now?" update on Facebook yesterday: "Heather is ripping out half of her crochet project because I realized I skipped two rows. Frick!", and it inspired a couple of my snarky friends, (the word snarky stolen from Allison Worthington), to make comments.

One such friend would be Mike K, the husband of my other friend Michelle K (they used to call us the Bobsey Twins - how embarrassing is that? Michelle and me, not Mike and me, but I digress)...

He said, and I'm quoting, "Ya maybe you will make the cover of "Hot Crocheter Quarterly" then who knows where that will go."

Ya Mike, who knows where that will go! Let's find out! Here you go. I'll be the one laughing when you turn on the boob tube and find me sitting and crocheting at Regis Philbin's knee. Heh.

To the masses of people out there who think crocheting is "HOT", I'm here and ready to provide you with product endorsements and testimonials. You won't be laughing when the Hot Crocheter Quarterly swimsuit issue comes out! (Yipes.)

Humor is no joke

People have been asking me why I'm not writing humor too often these days. Here are my thoughts on the eschew. (Get it? Ahahaaa!) *ahem*

1) Why should I be writing humor? I never claimed to be funny. In fact, I'm not.

2) It's hard to write funny stuff when you're happy. Happy people just aren't all that funny. In fact, sometimes they're rather irritating and you just want to slap them. Left to my own devices I'd come in here every morning dressed in a Tinkerbell outfit and write an Ode to Joy. In fact, I may still do that.

3) I'm not funny.

4) The only possibility of being funny for me resides in banter. I need to play off of you. But you're not here. You're selfishly doing your own thing while I'm struggling here to come up with a somewhat amusing post just to appease you. God, the unfairness of that just makes me want to spit.

5) I could try to write funny stuff about my life, but then I'd feel like a jerk. Whenever I write about the kids I see comments here and there about how it's mean to write about your kids because some day like 15 years from now somebody they know may see that post about Joe holding a piece of poop in his fist and he won't be able to find a date to the prom. I don't need more reasons to feel Mommy Guilt. I've got them by the truckload. Why should I go out of my way to manufacture more? And isn't it kind of mean to write about The Bitter Half and leave him open to public humiliation like that? Isn't being married to me enough of a cross to bear?

6) I was in the shower this morning and my cat flung open the bathroom door somehow and thrust his fuzzy little face in there and started just meowing like a freaking maniac cat. I asked him if he was planning to be irritating all day long. His eyes told me he was.

And so I sit here writing about my hopes and fears and eccentricities and you sit there wrapping a noose around your neck, just daring me to write one more painfully boring word so you can fling yourself out the window just to spite me. Oh great, now it's more Blogger Guilt as well.

And just who do you think you are anyway to expect me to be funny? I don't need that kind of pressure. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be funny? To open yourself up to that kind of rejection? It's easy for me to talk honestly about things of which other people would never dare to speak. But it's hard to cast a joke out into the river and wait for a fish to leap out of the water and jump on my joke hook. In this scenario, you would be the fish. And I would be vulnerable.

So there you have it. And don't you dare succomb to pathos and say nice things in your comment like, "But you are funny.", or worse yet, "I like you just the way you are.".

Have faith and speaketh!

For me, blogging just isn't as fun if I think that people will actually be reading what I am writing. Luckily for me, that isn't a huge problem.

What is it about thoughts? Some are best shared, but others lose their punch when aired out in public. Knowing this, might I be able to take advantage rather than suffer because of it? Hmmm.

Example #1: I've initiated a new green tea and pistachio routine during the evenings. After the kids have gone to bed, I sip green tea and have a handful of pistachios while unwinding with the bitter half. Since I've been doing this, I've started to feel much more energetic, and people have been asking me if I'm losing weight.

There, I've gone and done it. I've talked about it. Given events of the past, odds are I'm setting myself up for an orgy of exhaustion and rapid weight gain just by speaking its name. Yet I did it anyway. I couldn't help myself. It's in my nature to want to share.

Example #2: I used to have a fair amount of ridiculous fears about joining Facebook. I blogged about them, (Lord help me I went down the Face Hole), and joined up. I felt an initial wave of lightness and freedom after hitting the blue "Publish" button in my Wordpress dashboard. I continue to feel better and more empowered as I cross paths with increasingly more old friends and acquaintances only to find that they are all very nice people. Each and every last one of them. And not one of them called me fat. To my face.

Another issue of concern to me is the cradling and releasing of my babies. In this case, I'm referring to my thoughts, hopes and dreams. My ideas and my creative process. When they call my head their home is the only time I can say they belong to me. Once unleashed, they belong to the world. Sometimes I miss the intimacy of the relationship between me and my formerly private ideas, prejudices, adorations and hopes. I miss the comfort of my delusions, fears, assumptions and misconceptions. I miss the storms inside me that are my private dreams and longings.

That said, when I share my babies I feel a sense of community. A part of something bigger than myself. I've opened myself up to judgment and speculation by kind and unkind eyes alike. Hence, to the possibility of expansion and change. I do believe that this is one of the keys to happiness and spiritual growth, and I do not regret sharing myself with you. But when I do, I also give away pieces of myself. I can't help but wonder if in doing so I am diminishing myself. If one day I will be an empty vessel, barren of all thoughts, ideas and passions, and not unlike aging partners, one day we will sit across the screen from one another with nothing to say. Or worse yet, we will talk about other people and their hopes and dreams.

On the flip side, I can't help but hope that this sharing is not stripping me away to nothing, but rather building my creative muscles. Perhaps by purging I am making room for more exciting ideas and creative dreams. Perhaps just sharing these things with you allows my babies to ignite and catch fire, to burn brightly and publicly until all the surrounding oxygen is eaten and they die away slowly, fully spent and well-lived.

Given the choice, and there is always a choice, I will take that leap of faith.

Worthington Wire proves worthy!

Worthington Wire Proves Worthy! - So I'm checking out Facebook this morning and excitedly letting the world know about my planned crochetstravaganza when I happen upon a link posted by Allison Worthington of Blissfully Domestic and Mrs. Fussypants fame. Apparently she has info about a Wii giveaway at her new (yes, another) website Worthington Wire. I go to check it out, and never got far enough to find out about the giveaway (search section?) because I became distracted by all the cool links there. For real! I found this link in the "Cool Finds" section in the bottom right: "New CPSIA Forum; Buy Handmade Badge 2009/01/20", which led me to the Buy Handmade blog where I picked up the new "Buy Handmade - Repeal the CPSIA Badge" (look to the right and scroll down a bit to get your own) and it kind of snowballed from there.

I had planned to write a "real" blog posting today, full of tears and recriminations and laughter and lots of huggles, but instead I'm writing this. And it's Allison Worthington's fault! So don't blame me for my laziness, blame Alli for the coolness of her new website! Or thank her!

You can catch up with Alli and all of her projects on Twitter @WorthyWire, @Fussypants. She's a hoot, and you may be interested to know, responsive and reciprocal. Natch.

I'm having a bitchuva time coming up with a post this morning

I don't know exactly how old I was when my love affair with Q-Tips began. But I can tell you it was love at first swab. And every day since that day I've been swabbing my way to a bright new day.

Hmmm... No. That's not going to work.

What do cats get out of licking the shower spigot? They must get something out of it, as they immerse themselves into the activity with such unabashed glee.

Glee?

I used to love making homemade ice cream when I was a girl. I can almost hear the gravely sound the rock salt made as I crunk the handle in frothy anticipation.

Crunk? Oh, just shoot me and get it over with.

Hmmm...

I was singing to Joe last night, "My son will get up - TOmorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that TOmorrow, there'll be my son", and just feeling so much agape from my heart.

Gawd. NO!

If you cry for free and out of a sense of civic duty, is the product considered to be voluntears?

If The President does something awful will it be considered an obamanation?

Would I get sued if I blogged on Saturday night and called it The Saturday Evening Post?

Walking away from the keyboard...

Hyenas and Secret Cheerleaders

Here are some fairly "new to me" concepts that I'm going to blow by you. I've only recently had light bulb moments with regards to some time and attention-related issues.

If people give you a "can't put your finger on it" creepy-crawly feeling, trust your instincts.

I've finally learned to pull the plug on relationships with people who make me feel odd sensations. Hyenas. Jellyfishers. Possible predators. Stalkers. Haters. People who want to use me. Weird people who imagine a closeness and intimacy that does not exist and try to tell me what to do. Or people who think their own situations would be better if I were not around. And I don't feel guilty about it. I owe no explanations. No guilt. I've got other projects to pursue, other people to give my attention to. I will no longer waste my time and my energy on people who give me the feeling that they are either misrepresenting themselves or have hidden agendas. I'm not going to get paranoid. I'm not going to make dramatic scenes. I'm going to quietly slip out the back door.

People who have good intentions do not give you creepy crawly feelings. It's just that simple.



I will give my time and attention to those who are responsive to me.

I'm from the old school of people pleasers. My numero uno rule was to slosh my attentions all over people who did not deserve them. It was partly about being accepted. It was partly about "saving" people. And the more I needed to be saved, the more I ignored my own needs and tried to save others. I think the real intent was to save myself by proxy without having to admit that I had a problem, and to avoid spending any time thinking about myself. If I didn't see myself, I could pretend that I didn't exist. And if I didn't exist, it was easy to drink too much, stay up too late, put myself in dangerous situations, abuse my body, compromise my principles and be generally unkind to myself.

I didn't know it, but I was angry about some things, and took that anger out on myself instead of an appropriate target, or better yet - letting it evaporate into the light. I ignored those who were consistent in liking me, in being responsive to me, and in just "being there". I already had them, so there was no work to be done there. And who wants to be a part of any club that will have me for a member, anyway? Why do they like me? There must be something fundamentally wrong with their character. Better to be around people who cared nothing about me and allowed me to harm myself. As a numbed-out zombie, at least in harming myself I could feel something, anything, as proof that I was in fact still alive.

STUPID! No more. I'm going to give my time and attention to those who are responsive and reciprocal. They don't have to be a major part of my life, but I will no longer chase the attentions of people who ignore me or who are not good for me. If you've been friendly and supportive and kind to me and I've ignored you, I am so incredibly sorry. It was no reflection on you. It was a reflection on me. To those who responded to me, like The Bitter Half, when you showed me myself I became someone else—myself. Thank you for seeing me, and for illuminating my reflection in your mirror.

I will thank my lucky stars for my secret cheerleaders.

I'm beginning to realize that we all have secret cheerleaders. They root for us and pray for us behind the scenes. Either intentionally or incidentally, they fly under our radar. We might be alerted to the presence of our secret cheerleaders during a conflict or personal challenge. It is during these times that we fully expect our best and closest friends to step up to the plate and support us, or to gently get in our faces and tell us the honest truth. We may be surprised when instead, people on the periphery of our lives, about whom we never thought much or expected to be thought of by, are the ones who poke in their heads, uplift us and point us in the direction of the sun.

If only there were a way to identify them when the chips are still up.

Thank you secret cheerleaders. I'm going to be somebody's secret cheerleader too.

Tagged! More stuff about me to make your eyes glaze over

I sit here in front of my computer this morning with one thought in my brain. Why oh WHY do they schedule those mind-suckingly boring public meetings after Barney? As soon as Barney ends, we're not given even a second of time to hop on over to the remote before a plethora of old folks in grey outfits and monotone voices start speaking about the California Field Act, or some other such important, but un-child-friendly material. The shock usually causes my son to start screaming, "Barney! Barney!" whilst running in panicked little circles.

But I digress...

My girl Lea. Lea's not a girl anymore. She's a woman! Oh no, now I'm starting to sound like one of those Godawful songs from the sixties: "Girl. You'll be a wooman sooon", or "Young girl, get out of my mind! My love for you is way out of line! Better ruuun girl! You're much too young, girl!". Shudder.

Anyway, she tagged me over at Lea's Blogging Life with Ten Things You Never Really Wanted to Know About Me. It was within this tag that I learned a stunning new factoid about Lea. She was a cheerleader. That alone would be shocking enough and reason for pause. But we're not talking high school here. We're talking college. We're talking Pac 10. I saw a picture of her in all her perky glory— ripped, gorgeous and glowing with health and thought, hmm... well, there you go. Maybe cheerleaders are real people too. Dang it, I'm going to have to cross another group off of my list of "People I Like to Judge". Cheerleaders were sitting between Charo and Chevy Lowrider Drivers. Now that cheerleaders are off the list, Charo has assumed her rightful position on top of Chevy Lowrider Drivers. And it's all because Lea's good people.

I've been tagged a few times and I don't think there are any more things to reveal that you didn't want to know about me. That I want you to know. But I'll go for it. For Lea. But only five things. Because I can't think of any more.

1) When we used to go clubbing in San Francisco I'd often use the men's bathroom because the lines to the women's were way too long and I have a bladder the size of a pea.

2) I worked at Wendy's when I was in high school. Somewhere there's a photo of me wearing a hamburger hat.

3) I love New Age music, especially the kind that features piano music, like David Lanz and Randall Leonard. I like virtually all genres of music, but New Age is the only one that consistently provides me with an odd feeling of Déjà Vu.

4) I once ate a piece of Mealtime dog food on a dare and was called "Mealtime" for the rest of the year by the friend who presented me with the dare.

5) I accosted Danny DeVito with a drunken hug at Coachella 2005. It seemed like a good idea at the time.



Passing along the tag here, X Amount of Things You Never Wanted to Know About Me:

1) Helene at I’m Living Proof that God has a Sense of Humor

2) Paula at Organizing Tips and Thoughts for Moms

3) Connie at BrainFoggles

4) Tess at Six Feet Under Blog

5) Barb at Black Belt Scrapping

Blogger Guilt

Am I the only person who sometimes feels guilty for taking the time to blog?

I sit here clickety clacking away on my keyboard instead of:

1) Tickling my babies
2) Doing the laundry
3) Working out
4) Knitting, crocheting, sewing, etc.
5) Getting it on
6) Cleaning out my fridge
7) Going to the park
8) Doing my nails
9) Reading a book
10) Riding a burro across the country

Hmmm...

11) Staring at myself and berating myself in front of a mirror
12) Eating junk food
13) Feeling lonely and confined
14) Sticking tape on my cat's nose
15) Casting my words into the sea of soon-to-be-lost message board and/or chat posts

Indeed.

Would I be doing all of those things if I wasn't sitting here blogging right now?

I'm not making a dime off of this blog. And I really need to be spending my free (Ha! I make the time to blog!) time finding a way to earn bread*. I've been approaching blogging and online social networking like a job. I get up in the morning and set my kids up, then check and respond to email, make the blogging group rounds, make the blogging rounds, check Facebook and Twitter. Post here. Write there. I really enjoy it.

But is it a waste of my time?

Why are we drawn to things if they aren't supposed to serve some purpose in our lives? Then again, I was drawn to drinking and clubbing in my twenties and that didn't serve a purpose other than to age me prematurely. It was fun at the time, though.

Is blogging just another addiction? Or does it serve a higher purpose?

*To those born after 1969, bread=money

Nugget from Plain Jane Mom

Nugget from Plain Jane Mom - You have got to see Erika's short burst of creative inspiration entitled "Shhh it's just a hint..." aka "37 seconds of unadulterated awesome."

Saturday Link Love

I just love my blogging buddies. They are truly special. I am amazed by their vitality, creativity, industriousness, and their ability to not let that get in the way of actually communicating—with me! Ahh, life is good. I'm having a moment.

Here are some notes to share.

1) Holly Jahangiri of Do I Have to Spell it Out and Trockle, one of my favorite blogging buddies, gave me The Prémio Dardos award!

The Prémio Dardos

"The Prémio Dardos is given for recognition of cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values transmitted in the form of creative and original writing. These stamps were created with the intention of promoting fraternization between bloggers, a way of showing affection and gratitude for work that adds value to the Web."

Well THANK YOU, Miz Holly. That was very nice of you.

The rules are:

a) Accept the award by posting it on your blog along with the name of the person that has granted the award and a link to his/her blog.

b) Pass the award to another 15 blogs that are worthy of this acknowledgement, remembering to contact each of them to let them know they have been selected for this award.

Since I am a dillweed, I'm not going to follow rule b. And because I am a dillweed, I'm not going to explain why.

2) Jannie Funster, another one of my favorite blogging buddies, tagged me with a " 7 facts about me" meme oh, about forescore and seven years ago. Jannie Funster. Funning aro-ound. Making copies. Coping funny things. Making coffee for Jan-nie. By the toas-ster.

I'm sure the poor thing has been sitting at her computer since the initial tag, eyes locked on How to be a Woman (my old blog), hitting F5 F5 F5 F5 F5 in the manner of Nancy Spungen had she lived long enough to operate a computer, assuming that she would know that F5 is refresh. Just craving those facts about me like Rosie O'Donnell craves something to bitch about. And I, in that intermittently insensitive way that I have, just sat here all that time cackling and stroking my dachshund Greta and licking a freakishly big lollipop.

Anyway, 7 pointless facts about me are:

1. I used to braid my hair and apply perming solution back in the late 80's to give my hair that crimped look. I fried it. And I looked like a fool.
2. I prefer extra crispy.
3. I prefer boxers or boxer briefs.
4. My friend Michelle and I used to go out dancing at gay clubs so we could dance and hang out without getting hit on.
5. I love Fiestaware.
6. As a girl I became obsessed with the movie Grease. I'd put on my Mom's old poodle skirts, create dances, and make my 5th grade teacher allow me to perform them in front of the class.
7. I wish they'd start filming an updated version of Magnum, PI starring Tom Selleck. I miss Higgins, T.C., Rick, Ice Pick and, of course The Lads.

3) I've said it before, and I will say it again. Andy Bailey of CommentLuv Wordpress plugin fame is the coolest geek bloke in the universe! I was having problems getting his WP-Twitip-ID plugun to work here at Retro Heather, and he was kind enough to take pity on a sistah and help me get it working. Andy is one of those rare nice and trustworthy people in a sea of predator sharks. He's the only programmer I've encountered who doesn't:

a) Completely ignore me when I ask for help, as 99.99% of them do.

b) Make fun of my inquiry and imply that I'm a hopeless fool the way Billy Zabka would were he the very thing he despises most—a geek.

Check out the WP-Twitip-ID plugin if you get the chance. Here is Andy's description of it: "Adds another field to the comment form to allow the user to include their twitter id. Inspired by @problogger post http://tinyurl.com/6gns3f and kicked up the bum by @styletime."

Also, help him out and periodically check out Andy Bailey's eBay UK auctions page where he sells electronics. I don't think he's got anything listed at the moment, but I'm sure he will soon.

4) I had the pleasure of "meeting' and had a wonderful exchange the other day with Lea Curtes-Swenson. She's working on a new professional blog, Lea Writes. Here's a link to Lea Curtes-Swenson's TwitterMoms profile. Befriend her and ask her about copywriting and getting back on the career track after taking time out for Mommyhood. She's got a good article over at Working Mom Lifeline on the latter called The On-Ramp.

5) Also, I'd like to send a shout-out to my esteemed and beloved cousin Gina and her incredibly awesome family husband Butch and children Chad, J.T., Drew and Rachel. At this point in time she doesn't have a blog in the works, but I'm working on her. We sort of drifted apart after she married at 19 and moved from California to a different state, (started wearing cowboy boots too), but we recently re-connected and are getting to know one another again.

She's one of the most energetic, intelligent, beautiful and fascinating women you'll ever meet. When I was a girl she was my idol. I told her as much once and she told me I was silly (in so many words). Among other things, I got a kick out of the way she blew off Rob Lowe back in his heyday. She's a genius with a pen and knows a heckuva lot about raising a family. She's also the Godmother of both of my children. I'll keep working on her and someday you'll be able to read her blog and network with her and get to experience her Ginaness for yourself!

Happy Saturday y'all!

Accept things the way they are now

Lately quite a few people have been making comments to me about my avatar. Speculating about whether or not I've Photoshopped my image—why I look so good in it, so young. (Mostly joking of course, tongue in cheek, or being complementary, God bless them.)



This, of course, is laughable to me because I don't think I look that fabulous in it given that I'm sporting a fair amount of chin waggle among other things. But I did cut off half of my chubby arm, I'll give you that. Oops, in this photo I cut off my entire arm. And my entire son, too. But I only did it after reading an article about how you NEED a face shot avatar that "POPS!" like whiz, snap, crackle baby! I did not airbrush out my wrinkles. If I'd done that, I most likely would have taken the time to airbrush out my grey hair. Most likely. But maybe I would have just left it in there to throw you off the trail of my Photoshopping efforts, and to make you think I really am wrinkle-free and 18 years old.

The truth is this (and I know you're glued to your chair here because your life revolves around me.me.me. and my pointless personal revelations):

It's simply the only good photo of me taken in the last three years. The only photo of me that doesn't make me want to vomit. The only photo where I even remotely look the way I did three years ago before I got pregnant and got thyroid disease and gained 75 pounds, (30 or so which have been lost, but I've got a long way to go, sistah! I had just joined Weight Watchers before I got pregnant, so help me!). The only photo of me that I can look at without, quite literally, choking back a tear. All my wrinkles aren't standing out like white flags to the ravages of time and sun exposure, (and drinking and smoking and eating bad things and intense stress and lack of sleep), due to the lighting being really good in that one tiny window of time at the apple farm. And the flash hitting my face at what I presume is just the right angle. And because I am relaxed and happy and I have my boy in my arms and my husband is standing in front of me.

It's not you. It's me. My vanity. Or what's left of it.

I heard on Oprah today, (don't laugh—I'm taping it because it's Best Life Week and she's supposed to talk about her similar thyroid problems), that one of the keys to spiritual growth is to accept things as they really are. Not how they were. Not how we wish they were. As they are. I guess it's all part of living in the here and now. We need to be present in the moment and, I will add, 100% honest with ourselves if we are to achieve spiritual growth.

So I done went and changed my avatar here and on Twitter and Facebook to one more representative of the way I look every day. One without makeup. I took this on Christmas morning just after opening the locket given to me by The Bitter Half containing photos of my babies.



My face is poofy and swollen by the years and the extra pounds. My eyebrows should be treated with a blowtorch. My lips are peeling. My nose looks really weird - like it's growing a baby nose on each side. Thank God the flash blew out the wrinkles. But I am happy. And that, dear friends and readers, is a true respresentation of me.

Agh!

AAAAAAAAAGhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!

Agh!

AGH AGH!

Why couldn't I have known what I know now like five simple months ago? Just five?

I'm not asking for the world here. I just want to be able to do simple computer stuff. SIMPLE. STUFF.

But noooooooooooooo. NO!

AGH!

I'm working on retroheather.com and it's all a big ball of pain. I was trying to integrate Wordpress with Zen Cart and I aaaalmost had it, but kept getting this ONE pesky little error so I nuked it all! THRICE!

The only person in the world who can help me, my stepson Brian, is at the gym pumping up. It's almost as though he'd rather do that than help me. I'm SO sure.

I am NOT a patient person!

And on top of it all, I'm trying to learn to knit and that's been a whole other ball of frustration. How is it possible to have one loop in front of a stitch and two in back??? HOW? And how long does it take to whip out a scarf, anyway? I figured I'd have one done in a couple of hours flat.

How do women stand it? The projects with no immediate gratification and periods of delays and waiting and just staring and eating chili and coming back and no, it's still not done or it's still not working! AGH!

All I want to do is create stuff to sell on Etsy to supplement our income so I can stay home with the kids. But instead of creating I spend my time in here virtually creating. And what does it amount to? Nothing! Sure it's fun, but it doesn't put bacon in Lily's bottle. Not to mention all the nuts out there sprinkled amongst the human gems.

People like drama. I used to like drama, but then I had kids and got reeeally busy. And now I don't like drama anymore. Well, the world didn't get the message. Hey world - I don't want your drama! I want you to infuse my fingers with talent. Make them nimble and make them swift and make them create with the speed of 1,000 grannies! Knitting one scarf a month is not going to cut it.

Why didn't I think of all this when I was pregnant with Joe Joe? I could have had it all together by now instead of flailing around publicly from one project to another trying to congeal my creative juices.

Am I mad?

How do people with small kids earn extra money? Do you have to be clever? Innovative? Sassy? Skilled?

I won't give up. I've decided I'm gong to start making stuff and selling it. And I'm going to talk about it on my new blog. Am I selling it to you? No. I know you don't need a scarf. But hey, maybe Google will pick it up and somebody who wants a scarf knit by some fool who can't even put together a website and can barely put needle to yarn will find the post and then find my Etsy store which, of course, it still empty.

People are going to be able to look at my creative offerings and see my heart and soul in them and know that they are so much more than just scarves and memory books. They will be able to see that they contain the sweat and frustration and busts of creative joy that I have to offer, and decide that no others will do.

Ew. Sweaty scarf.

Maybe in 2009, just to keep things interesting, I'll stop editing my posts. I won't be concerned about appearances. I've always tried to be honest, but to be honest I still wanted to look reasonably adept. Maybe I'm over that. Maybe I don't care about looking good anymore. Maybe honesty is as honesty does. Maybe this is all leading to something. Maybe I can have it all. Maybe I'll look back on this post ten years from now and smile.

Maybe.