Blogging has done wonderful things for me. I have a creative outlet that rewards me with instant gratification. I've met (and gotten loaded with) lots of smart, interesting, funny, and generous people. I've reconnected with other people who I thought had floated out of my life forever. I've worked on my writing and reached the point where reading my own work doesn't make me want to pull my face off my head.
I've also landed a few writing gigs. For cash money. That I have lovingly handed over in lump-sum format to Robert's preschool, proud sponsor of the Drop-Of-A-Hat Closing Policy. It closes on Election Day. And the two days after Easter. And the two days before Thanksgiving. Apparently the faculty all have pressing holiday engagements around the world, and they're all traveling by paddle boat.
Sometimes, blogging is the only way to find out whatever the hell my wife is thinking. Seriously. Some nights -- especially on weekends, when we've had a full day of releasing the Kiddie Kilowatts -- we'll have just gotten the little homunculi to bed and be sitting dazed on the couch, staring off dumbly. Suddenly I'll say, "So. I really enjoyed that post of yours on rectal thermometers." And a conversation is born.
I'm very grateful to blogging, but with every light there is also shadow. Every so often you discover something through another blog, and it crawls inside your brain and sets up shop like a squatter in a tenement. The current culprit is Matthew, who thrust the game "Funny Farm" into my life. All you do is think up words or phrases that are associated with one another and follow the threads as they intertwine. It's addictive and maddening. And now, instead of sleeping, I'm sitting here at 2 a.m. trying to think of three words that are somehow linked to "Viagra."
Any ideas? The words are seven, six, and four words long, and forget it because I tried all of the smutty ones.