Seven Days Late
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
OK -- I've been SOOOOOOOOO busy in "real life" that I missed my own fucking blogiversary. Oh! The shame! The agony!
Trouble is, I'm STILL sooooooooo busy in "real life" that I don't have the energy to blog much of anything to celebrate my missed date.
I turn 52 on Saturday (send $ if you want to gift me), and I "got my period" today for the first time in six months (ah, the joys of peri-menopause).
So, rather than leave you with the above as a pitiful shred of a post, I'll re-print (below) my first entry ever (but only after rambling a wee bit further).
I started blogging as PortlyDyke because my comments at Shakesville were getting outrageously out of hand in terms of length. I found I simply had too much to say to confine myself to comment threads.
Blame it all on Melissa McEwan (yes, I'm looking at YOU, young lady!). I've been catching up on posts on my blog-roll every three or four days in the last weeks, but have not ventured into comments, because I still have a shitload of work on my plate. Good work. Meaningful work. Hopefully, life-changing work. But comment-threads are all too seductive to me, and I know myself well enough to just STFU and keep away from them, unless I want to be obsessively tracking threads for several days, instead of digging into my plateful.
So, the daily "news" is passing me by in some ways, and that's OK with me, for now. I know I'll be back, and I'm sending you all TWHs from here.
Here's my first post, from June 11, 2007 -- one year and seven days ago (my, how the time flies!):
Big love to you all, and thanks for your patience --
I've been commenting on blog threads recently. Long comments, as is my wont.
And, Yes! I will too blog about blogging!!!
I will begin my blog by blogging about blogging!
"I'm a loner, Dotty -- a rebel."
There have been some days when this constant comment has proven the most perfect and delightful distraction for me. Others, when it has been the hair shirt I wore, complete with a lining of irate bees.
Regardless of tone and timbre, there is something in these long, chaotic conversations that fascinates me.
Comments cross-posted that ask and answer the same or different questions, creating conversational vortexes of their own.
Dialogue gone violently askew in the maelstrom of lagging ISP connections, moderation queues, and server errors.
Words dangling in limbo, divorced from the fingers that typed them, with no softening vocal inflection or quirk of eyebrow to modify their spirits-- only lone smileys and valiant punctuation marks, bravely attempting to nuance meaning.
"Why do I do it?" I sometimes wonder.
I have concurrent and paradoxical beliefs that what I type may matter immensely, and that what I type is simply another bit of throwaway byted-ness in the Abyss.
I simultaneously long for someone -- anyone -- to throw me a bone ("Good point, PortlyDyke!") and for everyone to leave me in my blissful anonymity (". . . .*the sound of silence* . . . ").
I try to wait until a comment is boiling up within me before I comment, and to say something really "meaningful", but sometimes my "wit" (yeah, right) demons intervene, possessing my hands with a fearsome energy that compels me to toss off some clueless bon-mot -- which I invariably regret.
I try to resist trolls while holding a compassionate mind-set that the person writing might simply be a) uneducated on the issue, b) a poor typist, c) dyslexic, d) tired/drunk/cranky, or e) all of the above.
Then, a certain sun rises, and I get a case of the Fuck-Its! for the entire day -- for no discernible reason -- I blast lightning from the tips of my fingers, and shoot sparks out my ass.
I have no idea what exact quality that particular sun emits. I have no way of predicting its comings or goings, or of parsing its plasma and flares.
Blogo-sphere! Quake and Be Still! Teh Portly Dyke Has Arrived and Shall Thunder Her Mightiness Upon Your Comments!
Or . . . not.
Posted byPortlyDyke at 12:30 AM