Dear Kids:
I am whipped. Between the house, you three, your swimming lessons, and just trying to stay upright and busy during daylight hours, I'm worn the hell out. I'm sorry you've had to watch me trudge through my days in an apparent zombie-like state. This motherhood thing has finally caught up with me and I'm not sure how to get back to my old jaunty self.
I'll get there. Promise. Just be patient.
Love,
Mama
Dear Crackbook Friends/Family:
Wow. In the last three months, I have been witness to some serious TMI in my news feed. Stuff for which I don't need to be privy. I don't need to know how much you've vomited today (Gross!) or how much you physically miss your loved one (Awkward!) or how much you hate your loved one (Awkward!). Seriously. Keep that shit in private e-mails. Don't put it on the Crackbook. I don't air my sick/dirty laundry out there and neither should you.
Sincerely,
Not the same Heather you used to know
Dear Bonaire:
I miss you.
Fishy Kisses,
Divemaster Heather
Dear Political and D.C. Lobby Organizations:
Quit. Calling. Us.
We are putting three toddlers through a private pre-school. We are paying a mortgage. We are paying for utilities, car payments, insurance, and my monthly chocolate ration. When you call constantly, asking for money? You only serve to piss us off.
When I answer the phone and scream LEAVE US ALONE! into the receiver? It means quit calling. It doesn't mean you call back the next day on the hunch I may have changed my mind. Because I haven't.
Regards,
Do something decent in our government and quit being douchebags and maybe I'll give you two cents
Dear Twitter:
To me, you're a micro-blogging tool. A tool which allows me to briefly spout out 140 characters of funny nonsense (funny to me, at least) to make people laugh or think, and then leave. Stealth miniature blogging, baby. I can't use you for conversations. I just can't. That's what chat/email/my phone is for. So, I will continue to be irrelevant to the topics/conversations at hand and participate in no conversation save my own. Just FYI.
Thanks,
@coalminersgd
Who Am I?
- Coal Miner's Granddaughter
- I am the 40-ish granddaughter of Frank (see header), a fiddle-playing coal miner from West Virginia. I was born and raised in said state and have lived in Georgia since 1994. I have a wonderful husband, three beautiful kids, one cranky cat, and one anxiety-ridden dog.
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Confessions of a Coal Miner's Granddaughter by Coal Miner's Granddaughter is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License.
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4 comments:
You know what is weird? I kind of officially hate Twitter right now. I have no idea why but it bothers me, haha. I refuse to delete yet another account though!
Dear Miner. (Actually, I have just learned that your comment thingy won't allow strikethroughs - so I'm not going to say what I was going to say and then strike out - you'll just have to use your imagination) I can't do twitter. And I'm leaning toward cutting WAY back on Facebook (Like I'm gonna A-Bomb my effing FARM!!!!). I have too much stuff - other stuff - I WANT to do, and really SHOULD be doing. Like painting. Learning more PhotoShop. Like reading "The Next 100 years" by George Friedman, because in predicting the next 100 years, he paints such a broad picture of the LAST 100 years. Yeah. Stuff like that. Oh. And blogging, too.
The conversations on Twitter really confuse the hell out of me. Why? Why?
As for the lobbyists, my only advice is never give them anything. And they'll never ask for more. Wish I'd known that years ago. You know, before I made the mistake of giving.
i like twitter. i use it in traffic and when someone is on the phone with me and is rambling. both happen quite a bit monday - friday in my world.
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