Okay, I get it. It's like when I have what I think is the weirdest dream ever, inexplicable, and when I tell it out loud to my best friend Jen I am struck by the obviousness of its message. So then I was in my underwear & Crocs running toward a big concrete building where there were a bunch of kids sitting around, looking bored & cynical, and a professional-looking man wearing a Nazi uniform was sitting by them and he turned to me and said "We don't want you here, but you can go back there and straighten up those shelves full of old books and papers" and I felt sad, and some of the kids called my name and gave me high fives, then I went back and started organizing stuff...Oh, yeah, well. I see where that was going. Sometimes Mark Wahlberg shows up and the dream kind of changes a little, but nevermind that now.
Same thing here in the old blog. You'd think my posts disappear into the ether after I write them. For such a seemingly thoughtful person, I am amazingly unreflective sometimes. Every month or so I have a couple grouchy entries wherein I complain about not appreciating my life. Yeah. We won't go into too many graphic details here, but can we say hormonal havoc? Hey, by the way, why is it that double H is used for so many scary & terrible things? Hanoi Hilton, Hamburger Hill, haunted houses, Hugh Hefner. Weird. Anyway.
I want to thank all of you for not pointing out this very obvious reason behind my insanity. I guess I really am a frighteningly intimidating person; that will come in handy as PTA president I think.