bloggity bloggity

Well, I've done it. I promised you I would post the rest of my story yesterday and I didn't. (I forgot to tell you that I'm a flake, on top of the random smartassness I told you about earlier.) Sadly, I pretty much forgot what it was I was going to finish telling you. (See January 14's post.) Besides the fact that I am back in school, trying to act like a writer, and trying not to act like a loser. Some have argued that I shouldn't have even enrolled in any classes, since I couldn't even afford to put food in my mouth, but I argued back -- why not?, since I am miserable in my career path, currently unemployed, and apparently unemployable; why not go back and finish the degree that I started twenty years ago?! Why not tap into my share of all those tax dollars I paid for so many years, to get my education? Besides, what's the alternative, getting a job that goes nowhere, as a low-wage worker in an office, somewhere in Obscurity, California ? Hmm, what an encouraging thought. Exile myself into the impassive life of the uneducated bourgeoise. Clearly, I would fit right in.

The truth is, I went out of town this past weekend to celebrate my father's birthday and came back exhausted from the trip. But I haven't been completely unproductive. I started two more blogs. One is just for me (because I'm special!) and the other one I created as a journal of my Big Project. That's right, I have Big Things planned. Besides the amazing short stories and poignant poems I'm writing, I'm writing a memoir, and the working title of it is beautiful blue butterfly. (http://beautiful-blue-butterfly.blogspot.com/) Sounds pretty, doesn't it? And I assure you, it will be a good read, full of lots of juicy details and and dramatic pathos. I'm a study in confusion, an example of how not to mess up your life: a personal trainer and seven-time Ironman Triathlon competitor who can't get rid of her fat-girl mentality, and don't forget the four-eyes and the buck teeth and the frizzy hair. The frizzy hair, of course, coming from the fact that I have one white parent and one black parent. Only unlike one of my more famous brethren, Barack Obama, I don't look very black. (My parents married in 1958, when it was still illegal in several states -- miscegeny, they called it -- and years before MLK gave his famous "I Have a Dream" speech.) The confusion, of course, coming from all this. Oh, but the book will have so much more! Like the depression, the self-destructive behaviors, the foggy-brained wanderings, and the molestation-rape as a little girl. (Got a really cool poem out of that one.) Let's see, what am I forgetting? Oh, yes, the resultant infertility. That's right, my insides are rotting. There's much, much more, but if I told you everything now, then you won't want to read the book. So that's all you get for now. Heh heh.