“I’m sorry.”
I feel as though I’ve been mentally apologising for at least a week now to those who I feel I’ve somehow disappointed or wronged. Starting with myself, although those thoughts are less apology than disguised self-accusation:
I’m sorry I’ve not been diligent with Keira’s reading and writing homework activities.
I’m sorry I didn’t prepare a report for tonight’s preschool committee meeting.
I’m sorry, Adam, for coming home from aforementioned meeting, while you’ve been here reinstalling WordPress, without much knowledge in doing so, and I charge in and pick out the things still broken instead of thanking you.
I’m sorry I haven’t done this week’s grocery shop yet.
I’m sorry I haven’t written that book review yet.
Etc.
While these WordPress issues have been plaguing me, I must admit there’s been moments, especially over these past few days, when a tiny whisper has come into my mind – or, really, emerged from a secret hiding spot, latent until now – and this whisper has said, “You could stop, you know. Blogging. Entirely.”
I must admit, it caught me off guard. Scarier still, I find it appealing.
Only in the sense, I should add, that these back end issues fill me with a profound anxiety, and triggers again the self-berating-wrapped-as-apology. Part of the reason of my joining WordPress – along with the total assurance that this baby is mine – was with the intent of also learning more about the iceberg beneath the surface: systemic operation, that (to me) mysterious communication between my computer and a DNS server. However, once I log into my cpanel, I panic. I see data in files and sub-directories, splayed out, fixed, yet fragile, just waiting for a buffoon like me to come in and ruin it with good intentions.
But, we’re nearly there, and this post might date quicker than others, when once the new design is unveiled and I can redirect the mirror of “ooh, shiny new!” into your eyes, rather than think about these self-pitying notions.
Don’t forget, also, that I’m tired. There’s been a few restless nights here: last night due to wild weather, the other morning thanks to Adam rustling about in the roof at 6am.
Turns out the Occam’s Razor principle can be applied to the question: “What is that smell in our bedroom that is suspiciously like dead rat?”
The answer: dead rat.
Somewhere in the walls.
So we’re welcoming this wind at the moment. The windows are open, blowing through neutrality. I need to do this with my head too, I think. Come back to some sort of balance.
