August 4, 2013
Guest Post for HotMessMom.com
The Hot Mess is holding a gun to my head, yelling, “Type, type! Move your fingers, skinny bitch!”
Ahhh. Just kidding. I’m here because I’ve got madwoman lurve for her. When she first asked for a guest post I said, “Are you facking kidding me? I don’t even post on my own blog anymore?”
And that’s why this is perfect, right? Since the topic she suggested was “My love/hate relationship with my blog.” At first, I decided to just ignore her. But then I got scared she was going to tackle me and punch me in the tit at the MILF March in September. She's going to anyway.
So, here's the real truth about why I don't really post anymore. I started Diary of a Madwoman because out of sheer madness not very long ago I found myself randomly typing weird shit like “my husband is dead” into google. I could barely see the screen through my tears. You know what my search returned? A whole lotta jack. Nothing! Dear God, I’m the only one! I can relate to NO ONE. I’m a freak. Nobody gets it. NOBODY FUCKING GETS IT, YA HURD ME??!!
And so I started screaming and bashing my fingers into the keyboard. And the Diary was born. It was insanely therapeutic. Immediately, people started showing up, by the thousands. One morning I spent about 15 minutes writing “How Not to be an Asshole When You Grow Up” while I sat at my kitchen counter. Ten thousand people had read it by that afternoon. Watching that page counter flip numbers in rapid succession was like watching the gas pump, except it was incredibly thrilling! The truth is, I still didn’t think it was good. 700,000 readers later and these numbers impress me zero. Because some blogs have two million. Or four million.
There are some unwritten rules if you wish to be successful in social media. Relentless marketing helps. Other rules involve being politically correct, not cursing too much, not being too opinionated, staying in the middle lane, and accepting the fact that facebook censors.
Gag me with a Volatile flip flop.
I’m not ok with any of that. I try to be a middle of the road kind of person, but it harms me and I have reason to believe it might give me cancer. I’m a ‘push the envelope’ type of girl. What can I say? Not everyone appreciates that.
So the Diary is sometimes left waning. A victim of not being perfect. Add to that the embarrassing number of "mom blogs" floating around the internet. Oh my God! Please arrest and jail all those tired writers! I shan't be associated. I just can't. I'm too scared someone might call this a mom blog.
But I love writing. My writing is best when I am not trying to please anyone. Many times I reluctantly decide that the writing is too scary for you. Sometimes a whole awesome, touching, raw, emotional and funny yet scathing blog cannot be published because I fear the impact it would have on a single certain person. It’s various people at various times, depending on the subject. It could be Dave’s family, or his friends, or maybe my own family. Many times it’s the pearl clutchers. I imagine them clutching their pearls and speaking in hushed tones when I breeze past them in a dress that might be showing cleavage. “Did you read what she wrote?”
I mostly don’t care what people think but I’m also a realist. I have to live with the ramifications of the published words. It’s easy to step into my Madwoman alter ego and fling the words around. It’s harder to press the ‘publish’ button when I see my real name sitting up in the corner. I kick myself every day that I didn’t do this on the sly. A pseudonym. Just some random crazy bitch. But the story of the kidnapping and robbery on the morning of the funeral would have found me. Because who the fuck else has that ever happened to? Was that shit even real?
The blog neglect is shameful because it causes the blog to be buried deeper and deeper into the sea of words that is the internet. I do fervently WISH for it to be accessible to those who find themselves where I was that fateful evening….eyes red and swollen, throat burning from screaming, desperate to hear the real truth from a real person speaking real words. I’m humbled that the serious words have saved lives and changed lives. And tickled that the comical aspect serves as proof that if you maintain a good attitude and a sense of humor you will never suffer longer than necessary. Because suffering is for pussies.
Cue the pearl clutching.
Random funny ecard courtesy of The Klonopin Chronicles
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