I love you and I hate you.

I can’t get it together to write a post.

I’m overwhelmed.

I need to go running, do 25 loads of laundry, sweep the gobs of cat hair off my stairs, buy two more linen napkins and a can of red spray paint to paint the thistle I clipped for my Christmas urns. (Do I need to do this last one? Hell yeah.)

Add this to the bigger stuff: I need to find a job – or more importantly: figure out what kind of job to find. I need to stop creating new blogs every time I have an idea (seriously, I’m up to four now due to the cunning words “register a new blog” — the metaphor for my life not lost on me).

I need to lose 10 pounds.

Before December 3rd.

So I sit down to post, to unwind by exercising some flabby creative muscles.

But I can’t, because I’m too jealous — of you people.

First there’s this gorgeous post by Mom Zombie. She and I are in similar places in life, but look at the beauty in her day that she thought about and then wrote about. Her post: soulful and original. My post: borrowed links.

Then Allison, does it with her post on holiday gift ideas. It’s not enough that she’s pretty and skinny and sooo nice. She’s also funny, charming, and made this amazing book of her amazing posts for her (I’m certain) amazing dad. I”m not only  jealous she has good ideas, I’m jealous she has a good dad.

Next, Mrs. Waltz – absent for like, forever! And she sneaks in a well-crafted, intelligent post with her characteristic wit — oh, and a super-smart link, which reminds me how clever she is, and how interesting her Google reader must be. I don’t even know how to set up a Google reader. I’m not even sure there is such a thing. Is there?

And Cherie, re-invented with a new blog so fresh, I can feel Maine, smell Maine, hear Maine — even though I’ve never been to Maine. Also, her new Internet presence is well-integrated with her other social media outlets. As a former marketer, this rallies further envy. Ha! — good objective, great strategy and even better tactics.

Plus, isn’t is enough that Shauna just published her second book? No. She has thick hair and a million friends. And her friends come over and they have a party, and eat yummy things. So she posts recipes, inspiring another book. And, P.S. Is that a top-of-the-line Le Creuset baking dish I see in the picture? Of course it is.

One more: Did I mention my sister-in-law? She runs the marketing department of a big city, law firm and has a stunning garden — at her weekend house… in the country. And speaking of, recently her picture was in Town and Country — her picture with Katie Couric with whom she hosted a fabulous charity event where they raised mega bucks to help cure cancer. The other day, she sent me an email with a link to an essay that was just published. Published!

So, my point is this: With Thanksgiving just two days away, let me say, I’m grateful to know such talented, bright and passionate people. I’m further grateful a few of you kind people still read my little blog. Of course, what choice do you have with all the linking I’ve done?

But, please guys — could you just aim a little lower? Or maybe a lot lower.

Keep me company down here. I have  chocolate…and vodka.

13 thoughts on “I love you and I hate you.

  1. OK. You made me laugh with this one. In a good way.
    Do you really have four blogs? I have two. Forget about the other one. It’s really a glorified resume. Still, some days I feel like I’m feeding this mostly ungrateful beast with a bottomless stomach.
    We really need to meet someday. The red paint and thistle thing started my laughter. I have a project like that I started in September. It’s not done. I keep thinking I’ll finish it. It would make me happy. It makes my family think I’m halfway to crazy.
    Oh, Happy Thanksgiving and thank you so much for the link and the praise.

  2. Duuuuuude.
    The bar doesn’t GET any lower than you letting me off the hook after months and months of nadacommunicada…with PRAISE?

    Please pass the vodka. Maybe that’ll limber up my typin’ fingers.

    1. Yeah, see — that’s my point. You don’t even have to practice writing. You just sit down one random day and whip one off, and it’s funny and poignant and so you. Cut the stuff out, man.

  3. I seriously just snorted out loud that you used “well-integrated,” “social media outlets,” and “tactics” in reference to me.

    Oh, lordy. You are going to be so disappointed in me if we ever meet.

    “Tactics.” HEH.

    1. Doll, if you didn’t plan it – then you are a master tactician, a tactical godd-esse. All tactically challenged people shall hail you, Queen of the well-integrated, social media tactics.

  4. You’ve lost your mind. I’m convinced now. You know better than to compare yourself to others. That’s middle school stuff and I enjoy reading your grown up stuff. We all love your thoughts and ideas. I keep coming back for more but you insist you don’t have it. And the ones you think have it have put on a hell of a show!
    I will always remember your writing about your daughter whispering to the Christmas tree you were not fond of. We all whispered to our trees as children. You put it into words, feelings, memories.
    You have so much to offer. Please get to it.
    Happy Holidays.

    1. Oh shite. You’re so right. I’m in a rut, a middle-school, everyone-writes-better-than-me rut. I want to be popular like the other blogs, but I’m not. I’m just me, or rather a virtual eighth-grade version of me. I went back and read that 12/08 post about the Christmas tree. That was a better post, mainly because my daughter was so full of joy it rocked my whiny world.

      That is, in fact, the best way to get jolted out of a funk…by the shiny face of one gorgeously happy daughter. Thank you for reminding me.

  5. The second you write for someone else you’re done. Or to be “as good as” or “popular” like the other blogs. Your writings are not middle school, comparing yourself to others is.
    Your words are wonderful when we get them. Do them for you. Don’t second guess. Do it. Post it. We won’t love them all. Just most of them. I can picture your daughter whispering to the tree. I’ve never met you, your daughter or your tree. It’s all good…I have patience.

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