Blogging, Ski Lessons and Catastropothes

I drove to my friend Erika’s house in a mad rush yesterday. I was late (as usual). I think I may have been on two wheels as I went through one of the roundabouts. I’m perpetually late these days, mainly because I think I can write something in ten minutes. The truth is it just feels like ten minutes to me when it’s actually two and half hours in real time. I get sucked into some sort of writing vortex where hours take minutes. We’d texted that morning and arranged to meet, but before I could pick her up I knew I had to get some work done. There was freelance work which required editing, a sponsored post for a client, and the usual blog post for the day.

I don’t want to sound wanky and say I need to write a post each day. I don’t need to. But, we’ll yeah, I kind of need to. My day feels out of whack if I haven’t pushed the publish button. Kind of like when you leave the house without brushing your teeth or maybe putting deodorant on. You can’t wait to get home to rectify the situation. In the same way that runners need the endorphins, I need the words. I never used to feel like that. I’ve created the monster habit over the past couple of years. It’s not the same for all bloggers although I reckon Mrs Woog and BabyMac may feel the same way. Do you read their blogs? I do, every day.

When I write for magazines it feels like work, and writing sponsored posts feel like torture until I remind myself what it felt like to pack oranges for a living or sort moldy apricots or quality check almonds. When I write for other people it takes me forever. I read and reread each sentence, but not on the blog. It’s nice and warm and friendly, it’s okay if you stuff up in public here. Often I post something that has been so badly edited (read not edited at all) that I feel the need to write a public apology the next day. Oopsy daisy, sorry guys but I was in a rush for school pick up when I pushed the publish button. My friend Rob calls them Catastropothes, get it, catastrophic apostrophes. My friend Rob is an editor. I think it must hurt his eyes when he reads my work. Actually he doesn’t read my work. Most of my friends don’t. Which is why I think I love this blogging caper – you can have this whole other secret world. A world where thousands (yes I can’t believe it either, thousands) of women, and a few lovely blokes come every day for a secret chat about stuff that makes me giggle.

Blogging may well be the best natural high I’ve discovered since I had ski lessons with my friend Cath. We both laughed so hard that we could no longer speak, we just rolled around in the snow giggling at how bad we were. I actually laughed so hard that when I finally stood back up I managed to fall over from laughing again. I was laying on the ground pleading for Cathy to stop trying to ski because I thought I might just wet my very fancy new fraudulent ski pants. Fraudulent because they were not helping me ski. I’m laughing now just thinking about it, she’ll be laughing to. We. Were. So. Bad. At. Skiing.

Don’t you hate it when bloggers do that? Write. Their. Sentences. Like. That.

So distracting.

Anyway where was I?

Blogging. Secret life. You. Me. Why we’re here. I write here because I like to record stuff but also because I know you’re here with me. Sometimes I have a little cry, or a giggle out loud. Yesterday I had a little giggle out loud, and then I wondered if I would be the only one giggling. And then for a split second I thought hmmm maybe I shouldn’t publish this one. And then I thought shit I’m half an hour late to pick up Erika, and then I just pushed publish and drove like Michael Schumacher to get to her house.

When I picked up Erika and loaded her bloody gorgeous new baby who makes my ovaries ache, into the back of the car, I rattled off the usual excuses. Sorry sorry sorry, working, writing, lost track of time. And then I said “I just wrote this post about schools that might get me in trouble. I mentioned the kool aid and I used the name Sassy because it’s such a uniquely American name”. There’s a Sassy at our school and she’s really lovely and I’d hate her to think I thought she was anything but lovely – because she is lovely.

“Oh she won’t read it”

“Yeah you’re right, she won’t see it” I said.

At last count the post has been shared and seen about thirty thousand times. She may have seen it. But the odds are still on my side, right?

When you write and tell me you giggled it is the best thing in the world. The best. I mean that. When I hear that you’ve shared something of mine with friends in Norway, Houston, Shanghai or Jakarta I can almost picture you. I think about you getting about your day, doing the same stuff I’m doing – just somewhere far away. It truly is the coolest thing in the world.

My husband has just let out a sigh and left the room. Thats his passive aggressive way of letting me know it’s time to step away from the computer. It appears the vortex has sucked me in again. But before I go. I just wanted to say thank you. Thanks for sharing me with your friends, and thanks for letting me know you giggled as well. It’s almost like ski lessons, just less painful, with less fraudulent pants.

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