Archive for the ‘As the Web Burns’ Category
The Little Things
Just a quick note to let everyone know that I reply to most comments here on my site. When I reply to these comments, an email is sent to the email address of the commenter that I have replied to.
However, sadly, due to my harasser(s) reporting my blog email address to gMail’s spam center, those replies are being bounced and sent to spam folders. So you’re probably not going to see it if I reply to your comment, unless you come back to the site and click on the comment bubble.
These are just some of the little things my harasser(s) have(s) done that makes my online life a little harder. The other part is they publish novel-sized comments here and on my journal, though those comments are never approved, to let me know how badly they hate me. I know who is doing this, and I am choosing to ignore them, for now. These things don’t bother me. These cowardly acts of commenting, reporting me for spam, lying to my host and claiming I’m hosting photos of them on the server, and so fourth. They’re little annoyances, much like when a fly gets in and keeps landing on you. But also like that fly, if it annoys me much, I’ll capture it and put it outside. Where it belongs. To go bother some cattle or another unfortunate person. But if it bothers another person, it may take on the risk of getting smashed.
Just something to think about. 
Hope everyone’s weekend is starting out good!
A Bad Mother
I have another star. *grins* I am so loved, right? Or maybe Matt just wanted to make me feel better since things are starting to get bad again. I’ll make it just fine. I always have. I’m always alone when these things go down, but I’m used to it by now. I know that I am truly the only one I can count on. I shouldn’t read what they write, but I am curious. I’m called a bad mother because I don’t exploit my children on the internet. I don’t attempt to get hits by posting dozens of photos of my kids on the great web. I am a bad mother because I don’t exaggerate my daughter’s illness in exchange for hits.
I think of this site like a diary. I write what is on my mind. Perhaps that’s the wrong thing to do with a blog. I don’t know. Perhaps when writing on a blog, a mother should exaggerate her child’s illness, post hypocritical entries about how she hates bullies, and then turn around and bully someone else for their personal choice of what they put on their site.
I like what I do with this site. If others don’t, well, then, they don’t have to visit. I really don’t do this for the hits. I do it because I feel I have something to tell the world, and I want to release these words, thoughts, and feelings from deep inside me. I love to write. For the past twenty years, it has been a private dream of mine to be published. I have decades worth of stories saved on computers, from type writers, etc. I want to get them published, but I have other things that I’d rather be doing.
Then there’s sex.
Oh yes.
If you’ve had a baby, you can no longer have sex, especially if the child is in the house and sleeping. That simply means you’re a sex fiend and a pervert and your child is being sexually abused. What…? Yes, my harasser really put that in the report she made on me. Wow. I bet the social workers laughed their asses off over that! How many of us wouldn’t be here if our parents stopped having sex after their first child?
Oh well.
Doesn’t bother me any. But it sure does make for a humorous read. Takes a boring evening and makes it pretty entertaining.
Things to do With Top Ramen
I admit it. You’ve got me. I cannot cook to save my life. I used to, but that was before I hurt my back. That was before I was bed-bound 90% of my day and forced to become what I am today: An internet junky who can’t seem to do anything useful in the real world. Until I went to physical therapy a week ago, I was doing pretty good. I had no pain, I thought I would be able to care for my family, set up Christmas, go on the Winter Lights Tour with the kids. Now? I’m fortunate to retrieve the remote when it falls on the good (ie: not against the wall) side of the bed. I try to nap, and I have visions of falling, and my leg twitches. Seizures? Hell, my doctor doesn’t know. He’s not even sure why I stopped having periods, yet he ordered my hysterectomy. Brilliant Man.
After seeing Doc Mick yesterday, I was denied a renewal on my Vicodin. Hey, I’ve had the same bottle since July! I obviously don’t need it! WTF, doc? I wasn’t in pain after the first few days of taking it, and now the pain is back with a vengeance! Sitting, standing, laying on the wrong side, it all causes throbbing, shooting pains down my back and right leg. What the hell did I do? Is this the great being’s way of telling me I shouldn’t exercise? Got the message loud and clear!
On to the dilemma.
The best thing I could cook tonight, because I can barely stand, is Top Ramen. Not exactly the best in nutrition, but I posted to a parenting board, asking what I could do to jazz up the ramen. What kinds of vegetables, sauces, and other things did they do with theirs to get their kids to eat? I expected some to comment that they used different kinds of spaghetti sauce, maybe salad dressing. But nope. I got the typical Internet Mommy Response™: (direct quote from the board) “Why aren’t you cooking your kids something healthful? What’s this shit about making Ramen? If you’re so fucking crippled that you can’t make a home made meal for your kids, then Jesus Christ, give them away to the state! UNFIT BITCH.”
Wow.
No words, just wow.
I won’t go into how Dennis was the cook and dishwasher around here, and damn, can he cook, but I don’t see why my inability to make a five course home-made meal for my kids every night because I can barely stand up for more than a few minutes, makes me an unfit mother. I guess moms aren’t supposed to break bones, get hurt, get sick, be away from their kids until the last one is eighteen. But this is the real world. I’ve just come off of treatment yesterday, and I’m feeling pretty bad today. The bed I have been laying in all day is dotted with pill bottles, pens, my phone, empty water bottles, a journal, mail, magazines, and other paraphernalia of a person who cannot get up and live their life just yet.
Tomorrow night I am going to make the Top Ramen. Tonight I’ve ordered a pizza. So I ask those of you who have compassion for another human being: What the hell can I do with Top Ramen to make it not so Top Ramen-y??
New Rule
If you want entrecard credits from me, you have to comment more than once a week. Blogging, to me, is about a human connection, and this drop-and-run shit is for the birds. It’s nice that I’ve been bumped up the PR-food chain, but I really would appreciate some feedback on my posts, once in a while. So from now on, I will only advertise on those who comment to me, and I have tens of thousands of credits to give away. The comments have to be relevant, too. None of that “this layout RAWKZ! Read my blog!” crap.
But I may change my mind as the day wears on. Who knows?
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