Let me warn you now. This might be the very time I should keep my mouth shut.
Things in life have been pretty busy this week. And I’m a creature of habit. So, I haven’t been able to keep up with the blogs I read on a regular basis, as well as a few other daily rituals and yes…I’m dying inside.
(Clothes have been in the dryer since Wednesday.)
(Mail is literally jammed in the mail box begging for help.)
(There is something green in my fridge I’m scared to touch.)
Yesterday, my Google Reader showed I had 129 unread subscriptions.
I physically got a little nauseated.
(Simply because I’m all up into social media.)
And the blogs I read, well…I come to know the writer, their kids, their friends, their tastes, their everything.
It’s how we roll.
129 unread subscriptions bothered me more than the fact that my slacks are starting to get snug again.
(And for that, I’ll still be blaming the holidays in April.)
I checked in with one I had been reading for a few months now, and I saw Iris had completely been blasted by a couple of commenters.
Calling her a bad mother. Calling her self-centered. All kinds of shit.
(And one commenter confessed to not having children. Yet, she felt she knew enough about motherhood to say Iris was a bad mother.)
On Iris’ blog.
(And in my world, reading a blog and interacting through comments is really like doing it face to face.)
Listen. That shit is like coming into my living room, then bashing me on my taste of decor, insulting my family photos and basically telling me you can do my life much better than me.
You can call it public.
You can call it free speech.
You can call it constructive criticism.
You can call it an opinion.
But when it’s personal attacks and jabs, it’s bullying. Period.
But why intentionally say something so mean and spiteful directly to someone when you know it’s going to do nothing but hurt?
I am amazed each day how many people tell me things I should “think about doing” to better myself, or ways to “do something different” to make something work in my life.
Because you know, they got life down pat. So they know the way to do my things better than me.
I just smile. And slowly die a little inside.
(And no doubt. I’m probably guilty of it myself. Though I would never say anything to anyone to intentionally offend or hurt them. I don’t care if it is for their own good.)
Iris handled herself with the utmost grace.
(Iris taught me the saying, “I’m cleaning my womb” during THAT time. Kinda like when you were young and your mom yelled out asking what you were doing and you said, “I’m cleaning my room!” Yeah…I giggle at that!!)
(Though I’ve never uttered those words.)
(But that is so much better than, “Aunt Flo is visiting.”)
She is full of humor and like most of us that blog, live on and with satire daily.
I know satire makes up a lot of who I am. If I can’t make fun of me or things that happen in life…then I need to put up the “Out of Business” sign.
I hope none of you have had the experience Iris did. But I do hope you handled it like her if you have.
And with poise.
I’m not positive I would have been as graceful as Iris with my response. I’d like to hope I would have been, but I’d be lying if I said for certain.
(BTW…Iris’ readers came to her defense in full force. Me included. And most were as graceful as Iris.)
(It infuriated her readers because we know Iris loves her kids and IS a good mother. And has a phenomenal sense of humor. And knows how to use it.)
(Love shit sticks together. You know I’m right.)
(And I’d defend everyone of you the same way.)
(Cause we’re all love shit.)
(Whatever that is.)
I just think it’s a sad, sad world when there are those who can’t decipher humor from real life. And even more sad for those who can’t FIND humor in real life.
I’m sure one day nasty comments on my blog will surface. Someone will stroll in my living room (my blog) and feel the need to tell me how to be a better me.
It happens in real life so odds are it’s gonna happen here.
It will crush me. I’m just keeping it real.
It. Will. Crush. Me.
To my very core.
But one thing I’m good at…is hiding it. Then getting over it.
Because really, it’s none of my business what others think of me.
And I can fake shit better than most and smile when I’d rather be holding your carotid in my bare left hand.
However, a nasty comment here will do nothing but show the one who made it who the real winner is:
Cause you’re good to me. You’re my love shit.
And that’s something that makes my heart swell.
And just another reason I am so lucky to “know” you.
(I must be living good.)
(Or maybe it’s just the crack I’m using in my coffee now.)