Juggler of words and children…collector of pottery shards
I have taken a unflinching evaluation of my life and I have come to a conclusion.
I am not Instagram worthy.
I am neither witty enough nor succinct enough for Twitter.
My lighting is not good. My wrinkles are bad. My spare tire is perpetually inflated, and I am tired of fighting it.
I had suspected this for a very long time, of course. The notion was always there, from the moment of my first sign in, nagging at the threads of my subconsciousness.
You have nothing to give here. Nothing at all.
I tried snapping a picture of my lunch since sharing photos of one’s food seemed to be a good way to get started. Somehow I just couldn’t seem to capture the essence of my leftovers from the night before so I popped over to Twitter.
140 characters hmmm…
I tapped out something charming about one of my not-so-right-now-charming-teens.
No one cared. I forgot no one really wants to hear about anyone else’s kids unless you are a celebrity or your kid just wound up in jail or on America’s Got Talent.
So I wrote about my book. No one cared because publishing a book is sort of like having another kid.
So I wrote about the nightmare of both Nashville and Atalanta traffic. That got some laughs. Everyone hates the traffic in Nashville and Atlanta. (I-440 amiright?!?)
And…I was out of likable, re-tweetable material.
Whatever man. I do not belong in this universe.
This morning I found myself thinking the following sequence of thoughts:
Why do people have shouting matches in their cars ON SPEAKERPHONE?
At 7:17 am.
Why am I at Sonic at 7:17 am?
What has happened to my life?
I will tell you what happened to my life-
Teenagers. An entire litter of them. And teenagers are, by medical diagnosis, all nuts. Their little brains are undeveloped, and the parts that are developed are fried with hormones.
Have one, maybe you will still post to Instagram. Have two, maybe you can still
lie post on Twitter.
Have five? Goodbye social relevancy, and hello wrinkles, spare tire, and probably a permanent eye twitch.
That looks awesome in the right lighting.
So, I give up. I can’t do it. If I am going to survive the next few years I just can’t look as good as you. I am going to need the essentials-
Stretchy pants, ceviché, and maybe a blue margarita on occasion. Yeah, yeah, I know. You have a bazillion followers on whatever, but I have something you don’t.
My friends own a Mexican restaurant. So who is winning here? Really?