I went to post today, and my blog didn’t recognize me.
At first with the low rumble grows.
Next to a defensive bark, hurt echoing under.
“It’s me!” I soothed. “Hi there, sweetie. Remember me? I write you?’
Starting in with a wimper, scrunched face: “Where the hell have you been?”
I stumble, “oh, geez. Don’t give me that face… you know I can’t take that face.”
“Well I — I can’t help it. I’m — mad at you.” Lips tremble.
“No! No!” I reach out with apologetic hands. “Don’t now with the tears, look — I’m sorry, sorry, hear me? Don’t be mad. Really, don’t be mad.”
Digital eyebrows curling together, a Kahlo: “I — waited. I waited a long time, but you — nothing. Okay, like every once awhile — some damn post about dead deer or a human bridge or, or, or — stupid YouTube videos — what the hell was that? You don’t have enough time to write but you can fuck off and video tape it and then post it on me?!? How do you think that makes me feel?”
“Look, I — things are picking up again. You know, despite my best efforts, how busy I can get. I’m workin’ on my poetry, writing a memoir, getting ready to travel, learning French, freelancing — I even managed to acquire a boyfriend for christ’s sake! You know how time consuming those can be!”
“Excuses. All excuses — what you’re telling me, the ‘posts’ you’ve done over the last few months… nothing but excuses.” Voice gets soft: “I thought you wanted a venue to write… I thought you were committed.”
I get the back side of her monitor. I reach out my hand, stroke the machine.
“I — I am… I’ll make it up to you, promise. I’ll post, like, a bunch of times in the coming weeks — and not lame shit like before — I’ll actually write something. Promise. Look: how’s this, right now?”
The glow of the computer screen faces me: “It’s a start.”