You know that dream that you sometimes have where you show up for a job interview, and you’ve spent a lot of time rehearsing the answers to the standard questions about how you like to solve problems and you’re a go-getter and a team-player and how your biggest weaknesses are really strengths and how at your last job you invented a miracle flavor of gum that not only cured bad breath and herpes but brought about peace in the Middle East, and you’ve paid lots of attention to make sure your hair is just right and that you don’t have any spinach stuck in your teeth and then they call you into the office and you look down and you realize that you forgot to wear pants?
You know what yesterday was? My blog’s birthday. This blog is 5 years old now.
And one day.
Not only did I neglect to bake my blog a cake yesterday, I also completely failed to prepare a post. Here I’d been shopping around for weeks for the right pants for my blog to wear on its big day, and then what with life’s distractions, I just forgot. I mean, I guess I got my blog a flower yesterday, but given all we’ve been through together, it still feels a little cheap. Sadly, I did remember shortly after posting last night, but I was tired. I went to bed. My poor blog probably felt all mopey last night, thinking I’d forgotten. Thinking I didn’t care. Going over all the times that it had been there for me, tirelessly putting up with my whining and crankiness and embarrassing dorkiness and occasional neglect. My blog probably was thinking about packing up and moving in with some other blogger, one who would buy it a full dozen flowers and bottles of wine and write it love poetry.
Wait, was this a birthday I missed, or an anniversary? (Clearly the relationship I have with my blog is complex.)
So, um, happy belated birthday/anniversary, dear blog. I bought you a card, but it must have gotten lost in the mail.