‘Mernin’ Hot Messes. It’s Madwoman here. 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. I know her type. She would pretend she was just really drunk. She would blame it on being butt-ass drunk.
So now I’m here to reluctantly tell the secret of why I rarely post to my blog or my Facebook page anymore. The truth is going to make me sound like some kind of asshole elitist. But I’m not good at lying and I’m trying to care even less about what people think. So here it is.
One random day, I was scrolling through my Madwoman Facebook feed, and I suddenly felt extremely BORED and embarrassed. A wave of something very uncomfortable washed over me, and for once it wasn’t a boy fart. Meme after meme after meme about drinking vodka, or drinking coffee, or stupid cats, or stepping on legos rushed before my eyes. I felt assaulted by the repetitiveness. Good GAWD people, think of something else. My eyes are bleeding. This shit is so overdone. I scanned the list of blogs on Top Mommy Blogs. I began to feel very sleepy. Who reads this tired shit? What if people read my blog and feel sleepy? I can’t be just another ‘mommy blog’, in fact, that thought makes my asshole quiver uncomfortably. So I quickly emailed Top Mommy Blogs to remove my blog from the list and I quietly slithered away. I swore I was quitting.
What am I? What am I even doing?
I started Diary of a Madwoman because not very long ago I was a pathetic little lost widow, randomly typing weird shit like “my husband is dead” into google. I could barely see the screen through my tears, and at the time, I felt like a complete madwoman. You know what my search returned? A whole lotta jack. Nothing! Dear God, I’m the only one! I got no muthas. 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. “You are not the best Diary, so you shall suffer and be neglected.” Now scram! Stupid 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? Where’s my gah damn lottery ticket since I’m apparently this one in a jacktillion kind of person?
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.
If you liked this post, please consider leaving a comment, share, or subscribe to RSS feed
RELATED POSTS & INTERESTS
Please welcome the amazing guys from Point Counter-Point Point Point... my new favorite blog by far!!