This week. Three repubs on Huffington Post. An original post on Scary Mommy. Scary Mommy also picked up one of the Huffington Post essays. I got a syndication offer. Thousands upon thousands of likes, comments, and shares.
Today has been weird. I woke up this morning to find that my OCD essay had been published by Huffington Post. I’ve spent the day in a fog of confusion about how I should feel about this. Excited! Like a fraud! Excited! What if everyone realizes I suck?! Excited! Hiding in a corner!
I was too busy with sick people to get my #TBT post up yesterday. I thought about backdating it, but decided just to make this week #FBF instead.
The line between quirky and weird seemed to be stuck between my fingers. That feeling when you eat a donut or an ice cream cone and the residue makes your fingers so sticky that you desperately want to find a sink? That’s how they felt. Licking them would help – for a few minutes. Little kids are sticky, and I spent a lot of time licking between my fingers for momentary relief. It drove my parents crazy – we’d be in a public place, and there I was licking my hands like a compulsive cat. And if that wasn’t enough to embarrass every adult responsible for me, sometimes I would get a similar feeling in the back of my throat – this annoying build up of faux pressure that had to be released, and the only way was to make squeaky sounds. Sometimes on inhale, sometimes on exhale, always until a magic point when everything felt better – until the next time. Seams of socks and waistbands constricted, so I turned my socks inside out, and wore my pants around my hips to free myself from their ever-present annoyance. Things just felt wrong and it was a puzzle to make them right again.
Saying I love weather is like saying I love breathing, it’s part of who I am, and has been for as long as I can remember. There is a home video from Christmas ’89 where I am playing in the snow, making snowballs, and generally being a kid – then I suddenly look up at the camera and with the authority of a meteorologist I state, “this is the first white Christmas in New Bern since 1898.” Then I go back to playing.