Jaded and tainted blogger that I am, I’ve learned to sit on a post when it garners a lot of love (relative to this puissant little place) and bleed the damn thing for all its refreshing comment-y goodness. Not my hard and fast policy but it seems that when I sit on something substantial, there’s a reasonable ratio of ranting-to-chatter to satisfy my need for feedback.
Yes, I’m a vain ass and although that’s not news to any of you, saying it creates an illusion of humility for me.
My last post seemed to have run its natural course until I got home a few nights back and discovered almost a half-dozen more well-wishers. Yet, tempted as I am to milk every drop for all the potential for titty-twisting tears, I guess I should pop out of my hidey-hole and say “hello”, screw the comment count.
I keed, I keed, I’m not that mercenary. Or am I? (sound of chin rubbing and the inevitable “shit, dammit” as ashes drop on the front of a perfectly serviceable Hawaiian shirt while little lightning bolts shoot out of my head and a flanged “whoo whoo” sound floods the room).
At the risk of slapping you darlings with a huge slab of The Obvious, I confess that my silence this past week has not been my meretricious gluttony for glad tidings but phone calls, oh so many calls. Playing catch-up for sixteen years of love lost is no small feat and aside from the wee ones here who demand my unconditional focus as well as the Jay Oh Bee, I’ve hardly had time to catch up on the ironing much less post tidbits from my pathetic life.
OK, that’s bullshit; not the time constraints but the suggestion that I actually touch an iron.
It’s been an interesting week, sharing details of my life with Nicole and her mom, Julie, so much to say and impossible to plan how those details will unfold. It’s been something akin to setting out into the wilderness without any map and only a few words to explain the landscape. The excitement of discovery tempered with a fear of the unknown. Now we’re settling down, settling in, and I’m finding myself checking my inclination to be too much father too soon. Despite my joy at having been blessed by this new-found daughter, I need to remind myself that as far as she’s concerned, my role as “father” is little more than titular at this point.
There’s only one thing I’m certain of regarding the future: I’ll be blogging more. I couldn’t say there’s a value system that instills some kind of principle in my permission to shout shit to everyone with access to the internet. Chuck a chunk of meat out and see who chews on the gristle, I say.