I just had a blonde moment.
Well, the blonde moment occurred not less than 4 hours ago. I just discovered it.
To me, she isn’t pretty.
Just last week my niece asked two of us sitting at the dinner table to share our blonde moments and our brunette moments with her for the week. She then would share hers.
“What the heck is a blonde moment?” I asked. Kinda confused.
“It’s the stupid things you did. The brunette moments are the genius things you did.”
“Well, then, I don’t have any blonde moments. Maybe brunette ones,” I say. “but, no – not blonde.” My son doesn’t think he has any either. Great minds…! 😉
Earlier today I transfer a draft post from my Word document to my thing that I blog on. It is a rough rough rough draft. As I’m editing and adding to this piece, I’m scrunched up into the corner of the couch, my forehead practically touching the screen shielding the draft from any person, animal or bug trying to take a sneak peek at my writing. I don’t even trust the back of the couch, quite frankly. I always do this. I work on it here and there between coughs and sniffles and aches and pains….I’m a little bit sick. The story is all in pieces, and I’m wondering if I’ll ever be able to write again.
I give up. I save the draft.
So after I finally resign to the fact that I’m not going to come up with anything genius, I cook my meal, grab my blankie and get settled in to watch “Deception,” a crappy little movie which only ends up reminding me again later – Will I ever be able to write again?
My text machine beeps.
It’s a notification that I have a message on my blog. I’m tempted to check, but ignore it. I’ll leave this little treasure for just before I go to bed, I think to myself – A challenge in delayed gratification.
I eat dinner and start the movie. My text machine lays beside me.
Tempted still, I look at it again. I tell myself, No. Wait.
I can’t understand what’s going on in the movie.
So I look at the text machine again. I’m tempted. No. Wait.
Andie MacDowell recites a line to Liam Neeson. Liam Neeson recites a line back. This happens two more times.
I look at the text machine. Again.
I’m a bit bored with this movie.
Again, I look. Don’t do it.
Movie. Text machine. Movie. Text machine. Movie.
I check the messages on the text machine.
OMGOD! OMGOD! OMGOOOOOODDDDD!
My niece comes running out of her room. She finds me with my red red red face buried deep into my sweaty palms, hunched over like I’m folded in half, while I’m bouncing myself off walls and stumbling into chairs. I am so embarrassed.
I PUBLISHED THE ROUGH ROUGH ROUGH DRAFT.
It’s out there on the internet, and two people have already read and commented on it!
I scramble to take it off the site. I can’t think. I can’t think. I can’t think. Omg! I can’t get it off. It’s still up. How do I get it off?
Finally, I get it off.
I go to my text machine and text a friend who was one of the commenters! “OMG! I still haven’t read the rest of your comment. I’m so embarrassed. That was a rough draft.”
Disregard! Man Overboard! Abort countdown! Geronimo! I don’t know…just wipe it out of your mind!!!!
Then I calm down.
I write about My Blonde Moment.
Ciao for now!