There was a thing

There was a particular kind of post that I wanted to write today that of course I cannot remember now because I get ideas and I can’t hold on to them to save my life (mostly because my time to think right now is on the drive to work while I’m listening to an audiobook, and I get sucked into the audiobook so much that I don’t want to pause it to create a recorded memo, so yes, I know there are options, but they don’t work for me right now), so now I’m going to write something else.


How is it that I can manage to put up with the political and daily news items on Twitter that push me over the edge on Facebook? Why can I keep my content on Twitter when I go through and delete everything I’ve ever written and have ever been tagged in on Facebook?

I don’t even remember why I don’t like Facebook anymore, and yet I still went over into my settings today and debated suspending my Facebook again.


I, like everyone, am having a rough time with this year. When it looks like everything is as bad as it could possibly get, it gets worse. It occurred to me today, though, that none of it is actually happening to me, but rather around me. I mean, aside from my undiagnosed depression (or whatever else is actually going on – anxiety? something else?), everything is happening to my children, or my husband, or my parents. And yet, I keep trying to make it about me. What did I do to cause this? What should I have done differently? How am I supposed to respond to this?


I am simultaneously terrified to be acknowledged, and desperate for attention. What is that? Like, you can either be nobody, or somebody. You can’t be somebody nobody knows anything about. It doesn’t work like that anymore. People are rabid with secrets like that.

What in the world is wrong with me? (Don’t answer that. It’s rhetorical. The whole thing is rhetorical.