I am in a crabby mood this morning.
Head’s all cranky.
I announce to Mark, “I am in a crabby mood, and I don’t want to do anything.”
God, he’s irritating.
I stare at my computer monitor, hit a few keys.
“Are you OK?”
“I just told you I am in a crabby mood. I’m not dying, but no, I am not OK.”
“Fine, but stop groaning.”
“I did not fucking groan. I breathed. People can breathe, you know.”
“You are in a bad mood. Why don’t you go take a nap?”
“Because it is 10:00 in the morning. What sort of stupid suggestion is that? I am up, baby. This is me, all glorious and fucking up.”
“Fine, but stop groaning.”
“I think I’m going to stop putting those quotes on my blog. You know, the Somebody Said stuff? Nobody reads those. Nobody cares about them except me.”
“How do you know no one cares? I care. I like the quotes.”
“Mmmm hmmmm . . . so you’ve missed them?”
“I stopped updating them maybe two weeks ago . . . you’ve missed them?”
“I guess I just really read your main post, and I don’t pay that much attention to what’s on the side.”
“That’s my point exactly. So I’m killing it off.”
“But then you’ve got to put something there. Some content. You can’t just give your readers nothing in place of the quotes.”
“Ok, now, babe? I am groaning for real. If I put nothing in place of something people are not reading anyway, who gives a shit?”
“Maybe if you can find a way for people to comment on the quotes . . .”
“You are not listening to me! People are not reading the quotes. If they were reading them and loving them, someone would have mentioned the fact that I have not added a new quote in two weeks. How do you not see that?”
“Maybe you could put a Like Button under the quotes.”
“So no Like Button?”
“Fuck,” and I sink my head into my hands, “You know I hate the Like Button. It’s retarded.”
“I’m just concerned about leaving a hole . . . you need content.”
“That’s just fucking annoying. I am posting every single day. People are getting content.”
Silence for a while as I stare angrily at my computer monitor, which is filled with Pretty All True . . . and fucking content, thank you very much.
“You feeling ok?”
Mark turns to me, “Another thing to consider is that if you kill off the quotes, you won’t really have a way to continue adding stuff to your Amazon store.”
“Would that be the store from which no one is buying a fucking thing? That store?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to take a nap?”
“Stop being so annoying. It just seems pointless to add quotes that people never read in order to add the source books to a shopping list that people never consult when they go shopping in a store from which they never purchase anything. Don’t you see?”
“I think you should leave it up. And post some more quotes. I didn’t realize you had gotten so far behind.”
“Oh my god. I am not behind if no one cares. No one fucking cares.”
“I can’t talk to you when you get like this.”
“So don’t talk. I do not even care.”
I am still crabby. Duh.
In other news, this week is Teacher Appreciation Week, apparently.
Maj made a card for her teacher.
Mark interrupts my thoughts here, “Do you have Paint on your computer?”
“Do you have the drawing program Paint on your computer?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, could you look?”
“Jesus, fine . . . where?”
“I think it may be under Accessories, called Paint. Just look for Paint. Do you see Paint? Click on Paint. It’s right there. Paint. Click on it.”
“Oh my god, could you say Paint a few more fucking times? Jesus.”
“So fucking what?”
“So you have it. You could use it if you want.”
“OK, the fact that I have Paint does not mean that I will be able to tell a story like Allie or illustrate a story like Allie. That’s like handing someone a pencil and saying, This is the exact tool that Shakespeare used! Go forth and create! Don’t you see how stupid that is?”
(OK, I am not exactly sure that Shakespeare used a pencil, but you know what I mean.)
“God . . . you are in a really bad mood.”
“DID I NOT MENTION THAT TO YOU?”
Anyway. Maj made a card for her teacher.
Kallan wrote a little story for her teacher. With pictures.
And both girls picked lilacs from the back yard for their teachers. Maj rinsed her flower offering in the sink and held it faaaaaaaaar away from her face so as to minimize the sneezing.
We home-schooled last year.
You know what I got for Teacher Appreciation Week last year?
Not a fucking thing.
I maybe need a nap.