Adrift…And….Feeling Stupid

You know what I hate?

I hate when you go and read someone’s blog and you discover that, through their own words and takes and experiences on life, that you really don’t like them.

This doesn’t happen often to me, of course.  I go to blogs that are written by people that I am sure I would like, if I met them in real life.  I like the way they write, their take and view on the world, I see in them something I connect with.

But there’s this one blog I keep going back to (no, I’m not going to say whose it is), and I am not sure why, because I really don’t like the woman who writes it. There’s something about her that bugs me.  She seems to take for granted all that makes her life wonderful, and envy worthy.  She judges others and makes a living off of doing it.  She complains about her weight, even though she seems perfectly healthy and fine.  She is far too focused on material things and awfully preoccupied with having that which others have that she doesn’t.

I honestly don’t know why I keep going back.  I discovered her blog last summer when she was dueling with another blogger (whom I *do* like), and it was like the train wreck that you can’t stop watching.  I just kept going back to see how much more cringeworthy she could get.  And she didn’t disappoint.

Fast forward to Just. This. Second when I typed into this blog a whiny little post about how I ferry my kids around and how I drink too much and how my husband isn’t nice enough to me and how running is the only thing I seem to be doing right these days when it hit me like a freaking Mack Truck.

I’m her.  I’m the whiny blogger that doesn’t appreciate all that she has and how lucky she is.  Here I am whining about how all I had to do today was run to Target and do some laundry and ferry some kids around.  Sheesh, not a bad life, right?   Who complains about that?  I titled it “Adrift And…?”, a nod to one of the ridiculously too many Grey’s Anatomy episodes I had plenty of time to watch this weekend in my free time.

When I clicked off of my blog entry, the next page I clicked on was a BlogHer entry from Shannon Des Roches Rosa.  About a parent of an autistic child so stressed and so freaked out that she went all Crazy Insane Person and killed her son and then herself.  Me?  I read a book back and forth aloud with my autistic son and then we had dinner (steak and salad and bread) and then he willingly put on his shoes and got in the car so I could take his sister to play practice.

There are lots of people out there with problems.  My whiny, angsty boredom is not a problem.  It’s a blessing.

Consider my ass duly kicked.

 

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