I'm in heaven when you read my blog. Really. August 21, 2008 17:42 8 Comments
I should be Ms. Confidence Brimming. I should know, know, lovely, ever so appreciated readers, that you love me. Or at least, the very least, that you like me. I should know that you love my blog. Or failing that expansiveness of emotion, at least, like my blog. I should not care. Really. I shouldn’t. But I do care. I do. I want you to like me. I admit it. I’m insecure. I need to feel the love.
Remember that girl in third grade? She sat at the corner table at lunch, in her concrete slab thick glasses, a little plump, in her cute black and white dotted swiss dress with the apple aplique, feet clad in Bass Weejuns, reading Trixie Belden. She felt conspicuous, so self-aware. She felt everyone pitied her, she with her skin as white as Blue Horse paper, except for those freckles sprinkled like raindrops across her nose. She longed to be a Lisa, a Tiffany, a Heather, with their caramel skin and eyes as blue as Heaven Sent.
And then seventh grade. She was more comfortable in her pale white skin, with her red YSL platforms and tomato red jersey dress banded in lemon yellow. So chic. So very, very un-Gonzales, La. Sure, other girls with their blue jean hips and Candies thought she was, well, weird. Extremely. But. She knew who she was. She knew. And she accepted it.
However, dear, dear readers, I confess. There’s still a tiny part of that third-grader inside me. Alas. I need to know you like my blog. Really. My ego is fragile. Be faithful. Love me. Love my blog.
Blogging can be lonely. Here alone in my office, I sit. Revealing. I could be downstairs with His Bertness, watching The Colbert Report. Jon Stewart. But here I am. Exposing my insecurities. Being – gulp – needy. So unattractive. However.
Is it OK if bloggers are insecure? Is it OK if bloggers wear their hearts on their sleeves? I dunno. I don’t. I make my own rules. And I was repelled when Sally Field yelped at the Oscars “You like me, right now, you really like me!” I was. Totally. I was embarrassed for her. Poor Sally. Give her a box of Puffs and a psychologist. Quick. But. I get it now. I do. Completely. Show me the love. Show me you care by reading my blog. Every day. Every single one. C’mon. Make me happy. Please. Don't make me get out the Puffs. It's bad for the environment.
Am I being unreasonable? Am I? Probably. But. Oh, well. What is, is. And now you know. (And yes, I'm a Van Morrison fan.)