Thursday, April 30, 2015

The Wantonly Ironic Blog Post

This is the last day of April and I haven't posted yet this month. I set it as a personal goal to post at least once a month and for most of the seven years I've been puttering on this blog, I've achieved at least that. But not this month, apparently, or not. Now that I'm telling you this, I'm stuck in a paradox loop.

The whole fam damily
In the beginning, I posted many times a month, and once I even posted more than once in a single day! They were short posts, more about keeping in contact with our old friends and our diaspora of families. Since then it's morphed in to more of an essay thing. Often, I omit the various details of our lives, the ones I might share with friends, ones like: I put my back out on the back porch on the first hot day of the year and I got stuck out there but I had my cell phone and called Huck who happily took the rest of the day off work to care for his can't-get-up wife. While I waited for him, I got too hot in my black velour pants so I scooched them off of me. This might have been obscene but I 1) live in the country and no one can see me, 2) Except for there turned out to be construction workers building a house on the lot next to ours and they had a perfect view, 3) My unders often offer more coverage than my bathing suite bottoms.That sounds very granny-panty vs. string bikini, which would send the wrong message, both ways. And finally number 4) I don't give a shit who sees what. But then, pants-less, my legs burnt to purple and are just now, two weeks later, beginning to peel.

My view on the porch: that's the underside of the lounge chair
Huck's former work with severe Cerebral Palsy patients meant that he knew just how to pick me up without hurting me, how to feed me tacos by turning my head to the side, and how to sit me on the toilet. After a few immobile days I was fine, if a little resentful of what two and half years of laying down recovering from my head injury has done to my core strength. So now I'm doing more core exercises. The delightful thing was that it was just my back that hurt, not my head. So I laid flat on my back in bed and played on my phone which only fell on my face a few times. It was Mahjong Solitaire for days, baby. Having a hurt back was not boring, not like having a head injury. I was annoyed that the gardening would have to wait, but otherwise, it was a delight, interrupted only by stabbing sensations in my lower back. My mind was able to play, read, sing, tolerate light, and talk. Piece of cake, a little crumbly but yum.

I also would have written something about our heating system breaking down and how we have to buy a new one. I will post pictures when we finally get it done. These photos will be en lieu of photos of us wearing clothes, the ones I might have purchased for me and my family and our pets during the next five decades. Instead of enjoying clothing and shoes and desserts and beer and electricity and gasoline, we will be paying off this machine that's the cost of a car but doesn't even have cup holders. It's okay that we won't be able to afford clothes because our 27 year old washer and dryer just broke too, so what clothes we were going to buy wouldn't have been clean anyway. It's okay that the dryer is broken because it's clothesline season. And it's okay that the washer fills up at a drip and takes 2-3 hours per load because that's the same rate the 20 year old water-heater fills at too. But no worries, we will have warm air, if not warm water, in our home. If we weren't paying the mortgage on the house, we'd be able to afford it's upkeep. Next time I buy a house, I will be paying attention to the age of the appliances. Oi Vey!

Oh well, that's life: impossible situations, inconvenience, trouble, nuisances and frustration. Life is suffering, as the Buddhists say, no matter what you decide to do. Life is other things too, but suffering is the part we're always squirming away from. I often look at children (and myself sometimes; I'm young yet) and pity the sheer volume of suffering they have in front of them --days, decades, centuries-- and the obnoxious process they will have to go through of acclimating to it, accepting it, and finally laughing languidly in it's face. Hahaha.

Party's over for the blossom carnival
I almost made my self-imposed monthly deadline. I started a blog post yesterday, but I keep having more and more ideas and things I want to write and now it's getting really long, way too long for this blog. I don't think you people can handle the 15 page essay, not here, not in the few minutes you have today. So I'll need to cut some things. I do this for free, out of my own need to connect and communicate and string together pretty (and sometimes ugly) words. I do it as honestly and as compassionately as I can figure out how to do. The words come easily but the cutting is hard. Although I'll do it as much as I can stand for you, my unknown readers. Thanks for reading, by the way. The verbiage of the internet is so absurdly copious that I am always happy that anyone picks a blog post of mine from this ocean of blather and takes a few highly coveted moments of their time to read what I've written. Thank you.

About you: You are anonymous. My blog has a statistics page which keeps you that way but also lets me know the general gist of my readership. I wish I knew more about you all, but the most they'll tell me, that I actually want to know, is search terms and country of search. Recently, someone found my blog through the unlikely Google search: "Sarajoy, your life." Ooh-kaaaay.

Also, I've discovered that if you are in Denmark and for some very disturbing "reason" you Google, "Cow Shit Porn," photos of me licking cow shit off a pitchfork will be at the top of your search. Obviously, looking back on it now, I can see how I would end up there. Back then, however, I was clueless about cow shit porn. Now that I've seen the Google search habits of the Danes, I can see how my silly photos would have landed me at the top. That was not the intended outcome. Oh crap, I just realized that every time I use the term "Cow Shit Porn," (Now CSP!) I create a stronger and stronger link from CSP! to me. This is not what I want! I am not CSP! No. No. No. If you are looking for CSP, this is NOT it! Please! Look away!
The spider I didn't see until I went inside and inspected the photos

That post, however, is obviously the most popular one, at least 15 times more viewed than any other post. The next most viewed is One Black Sex Link Ninja Chick, a harmless post about our baby chicks that happens to have a much-sought title.

Since it's been seven years, I am wondering about changing the name of my blog. "Sarajoy FRESH!" has gotten a little old and sounds like a cooking blog, which it really isn't. I'm thinking of "Dura Matters," but that might be too medically, TBI-y referential. And don't want to get stuck on this topic for the rest of my life. Because that's how it works, you name your blog and then you HAVE to talk about only that thing, FOREVER. ONLY. THAT. It's in the Blogspot marriage license.

"Dura Matters" also doesn't sound very perky or clever. Maybe "Dury Maties"? Or maybe something more sophomoric-ly sophisticated and un-spellable like "The Bureau of Recollections." Maybe I should rename it "Inutile Larrikin," a nutty phrase I put together just now using Google, which is about as much thought as I put in to the original title. But I'm not sure anyone would ever find my blog, or care to, if I named it that. Maybe I'll just refresh the name a tad to "SarajoyROTTEN!" But more likely, I will think about it for a long time, so long that I'll feel enough satisfaction from having day dreamed about it and I won't actually do it.

What do you think I should rename my blog? Or should I? "Let me know in the comments!" I finally wrote it! I may be a blogger for real now! And I really do want to know what you think! Unless you are my mother. If you are my mother, you are officially invited to stop telling me how much you "can't stand" my blog.


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