Hey, whoa! It’s me! Writing a blog post! This is kind of surprising, because things got weird there for a while and I disappeared.
It’s me, Stephanie. I know, it’s been a while. I have a slightly different haircut now. I’m a little taller. I grew this impressive mustache. But behind this virile handlebar is the same old Stephanie, back at Listful Thinking and ready to blog.
Things I’m Sorry About
- That I haven’t taken down Big Celery and people are still pushing its agenda and putting it in otherwise perfectly good foods.
- That, upon re-reading an email I sent yesterday that was supposed to put someone in their place with righteous indignation, I discovered that what I had actually written was pretty mild-mannered and polite.
- How, for the first time ever, a post on this blog does not contain a single list.
Things I’m Not Sorry About
- Writing headings that end in dangling prepositions.
- The trailer for my new YouTube channel, Life and Steph. Oh, look! There it is, right at the bottom of this blog post. How did that get there?
- How I tricked you and this post had two lists in it the whole time. Oh-ho-ho. That Stephanie. What a card.
I’m afraid I won’t be posting anything to this blog today.
I hope no one was looking forward to it or anything, because it’s just not happening. I try to make myself post something once a week because I think it’s good writing practice and because I enjoy it. (I don’t enjoy blogging while I’m doing it, of course. I like it later, when a spambot tries to sell me knockoff purses by commenting “Fantastic publish, very informative. I’m wondering why the other experts of this sector don’t realize this!” on a post I wrote about how drinking water will turn you into a mermaid. Then it’s fun.)
The last time I wrote a poem was for a class in college. It was about a shark who ate people and it didn’t end well for my mental health. I still wake up at night worrying about the Malawi Terror Beast.
What I’m trying to say is, I don’t know anything about poetry. I can’t remember the rules for writing a sestina, I’m not sure what differentiates an ode from a ballad and I wouldn’t know iambic pentameter if it systematically chewed my face off, Malawi Terror Beast-style. I can identify a haiku and a limerick, but I don’t know what T.S. Eliot’s deal was and I can never tell if e.e. is cummings or goings.