Nowadays, every fool has a blog
I have spent the better part of two weeks, agonizing over making this post, especially since my co-writer hit the ground running once we went live. I have hundreds of things I want to write about, products I’d like to share a review of, local business I want to promote, discussions I want to start and have with people, but making an introduction to myself and my journey? This is hard. Even with the unbounded love and support of my roommate who shares my passion for life, and ultimately, sharing it all, I still didn’t know what to say. Should I try to say something political? Make a spark right away, and dive into something heavy? Maybe something philosophical, to showcase a lesser known side of me, that’s full of love and a grounded spirit who desires change for the greater good. Or maybe something funny, and quirky, something that boldly announces my flair for the dramatics, or dives into my ‘gamer girl’ side. I need to make a mark on the world with my first post. Everything on the internet is forever, right? First impressions are serious business.
I was still thinking about it the other night, while getting ready for bed. As I was filling my humidifier tank in my bathroom sink, a lightbulb shattered, scaring the absolute shit of out me. I screamed, yes, but then calmly finished filling the tank, turned off the faucet, and closed the lid. I stepped back onto the bathmat, as my boyfriend appeared in the door way.
“I think it fell out of the fixture and it just broke.” “Okay, well get out of there, let’s clean it up.” “I think we have a ghost, it just fell out.” “Uhm, well, let’s just get you out of there.” “No, there’s glass everywhere. Look, wait, I think it broke in the fixture.” “Come on, let’s..” “I need my glasses. I can’t see the glass on the floor.”
A sigh, and a shuffle to my nightstand for my glasses. It took some more coaxing, but he got me out of the bathroom, and he cleaned up the glass for me. As he was shuffling back to his office, I grabbed him and clung on to him, and he held on to me.
“It spooked me.” “I know.” “The apartment is haunted.”
Another sigh. I began explaining to him, in my half-asleep state all the reasons why the apartment was haunted. He let me babble, slightly incoherently, before patting my head and sending me off to bed, where thoughts of this post were now replaced with proving the apartment was haunted, and what I should do about it, and OH WAIT WOW I COULD WRITE ABOUT MY HAUNTED APARTMENT.
I woke up with much less zeal about ghosts, and a giant welt where hot glass had bounced off my shoulder. The reality is, my apartment isn’t haunted. Condensation from my earlier shower built up in the exposed fixture head, and dripped on the bulb, hot from being consistently left on. Something that would have made more sense if I hadn’t been so tired. Something that now, my boyfriend and I have to laugh at, the apartment being haunted.
And really, that’s the point of all this. I spent so much time trying to think of the best way to present myself, and I was taking the whole process way to seriously. The bulb shattering in my bathroom lead me to being reminded it’s okay to laugh at myself. I’m not perfect. I’m not a master at anything. I’m not a guru, or a scholar. I’m just a fool with a blog, and at the end of the day, I’m alright with that.