There is No Old Guard of Bloggers
Blogging as we knew it 25 years ago does not exist.
I remember the old days and I wouldn’t go back for anything–well, nothing except all the people who might still be reading my blog if I hadn’t taken it down in a fit of disgust with myself. My sister was so mad, as she read it every day. Nobody else was mad.
That’s what this new blog is for: the people who were never mad that I took down my blog because they never read my blog.
As is evidenced by the first few sentences of this post, I am not a young woman. I will most likely be dead in twenty years, maybe less. This is a weird, sobering thought that I can barely wrap my head around. I remember the dread I used to feel in my twenties when I thought to myself, “My God. Do I really have to slog through fifty or sixty more years of this shit?”
I’m pretty sure Morrissey wrote a line in “The Queen is Dead” that said, “Life is very long when you’re lonely.”
That may be true. But life is also very short when you finally realize your failures and start scrambling to make up for them.
Of course, my perspective will change again once I go to work today. My job revolves around hanging out with seventeen—soon to be eighteen—elderly people in an assisted living facility.
Today is the Rose Bowl. Today is Mrs. M.’s birthday. Alabama’s football team is playing in the Rose Bowl, and Mrs. M. loves Alabama so much that she used to cry because she knew she would never get to be the kicker for the Crimson Tide because she’s isn’t a guy. So we’re having a Rose Bowl party, and I’ll probably consult with Mr. M. about the best type of treat to buy Mrs. M. (She’s got an unpredictable palate, for reason I won’t go into here.)
Right now, though, I must shower and bake pepperoni rolls and make a marinara for their pleasure.