The real challenge, of course, with writing this blog is that one doesn’t want to edit oneself. I mean, I know we live in a country where one tells people what they want to hear and in a society where the massaging of the egos of others is considered not only acceptable, but essential behaviour, but I think that my blog should be about the real me, not the edited me that is on fb. Although, I’ve been a little strident with people on fb lately. It’s the pms, but that’s over now, so what then? It’s not the pms, its that people say stupid things, and why those stupid things should irritate me is a mystery. I mean maybe they think that I say stupid things. Maybe I have been cyber-dumped by many. Who knows?
Maybe I need HRT; but I actually don’t feel old enough. surely I’ve got 10 or 15 years before that. Ah, well. I won’t concern myself just yet. I’ll find out the next time they gynie goes on his annual fanny-poke.
I am so stuck on this synopsis. Who knew writing a book could be so difficult? Who ever thought that I would ever attempt it. Golly, I do make me laugh! But the committment is made, so. I need to do more writing for money. They pay an abloslute pittance, and I really can’t stand it when they change my words, my format, my me-ness in something that I’ve written and then they put my name on it. WTF? If they want to write the damn article then they must write it. Don’t change me. It doesn’t even make sense. And why is the word they choose better than the one I chose? I chose that word, it’s my freeking choice of word. There are millions of words out there and I chose that one, deliberately, because it’s the word that I wanted to use in an article that I’m writing which will have my name on it – why do they change my words? Mel said that it’s not about me, it’s their magazine. But it’s my article. I don’t understand. Actually, I do understand, but I don’t like it, so I’m determined not to understand. Childish woman! Get over yourself! – I shan’t!
Some of those people last night were so hideously dressed. I remember that ‘gotta be relentlessly individual in my look’ days. You end up looking like a freak of fashion. It’s youth. I think I’m going to go into aging therapy. I’m aware of the impending big one. The only thing to do, actually, about getting older is to get better looking and healthier. That’s it, isn’t it. We really fear the onset of osteoproblems and the lack of male attention that comes with wrinkles and grey hair. Thank God for Cosmetic Surgery, and Non-Surgical intervention. I need to go back to gym. Or do Yoga. Yoga is good. Callenetics is good. I need to have more sex. I saw an Oprah in which this Dr Someone was saying that for women over 40, sex is essential to health. Doctors should prescribe sex instead of anti-depressants. Give us a prescription for that, and let us go choose our medication.
I really have nothing to say. I’m just blogging to blog, right now.