This is what I get for writing on a Friday at the end of what has been a crappy week. Certain readers of Write or Else misinterpreted my previous blog, thinking that I was publicly lamenting the end of a love affair. [Insert hysterical laughter here].
I wonder, if George Clooney and I ever embark on our long-overdue love affair (once he sees reason about dating someone his own age), if I would ever lament the end of it in a public forum. Well, writing about it is way more likely than me going on “Dancing With the Stars,” so…well, we’ll have to see won’t we? [Oh, for God’s sake, I. Am. Kidding. ]
Here’s what I was actually going on about: parenting and how absolutely unbelievably mind-smackingly difficult it can be sometimes. “The Rock of Truth” was fiction as in a make-believe product of my sick, exhausted little mind. The metaphor, truth as a 1,000 pound rock, is something I made up. I have not been hit by an asteroid and there is no need to call the Mounties.
Whew. I hope everyone’s on the same page now. I hate causing kerfuffles with my writing but it’s happened to me a lot lately. I don’t set out to write controversial pieces; in fact, until lately, I shied away from even reading them. However, as I’ve gotten older, I have become less sensitive to controversy. It’s what my mother used to call the “I-don’t-give-a-rat’s-pattooty” mentality that comes with age. I apologize if I’ve misspelled “pattooty.” I wouldn’t say I actively court controversy; I just don’t give a rat’s ass (much easier to spell) if someone disagrees with me. Misunderstandings, especially personal ones, I will still work to correct but that might change in two months when I turn 50.
Don’t say you weren’t warned.