Tag Archives: Word Press


Woke up at 3 AM, got up to pee, staggered to and from the bathroom, crawled back into bed, fought with my pillow for 45 minutes and lost. Wound up in front of my computer too dazed and confused to face the World Wide Web, so I decided to blog. It’s been awhile since I’ve been here, and it feels strange, like I’m a contestant on Dancing With the Stars only I’m not a star and I can’t dance (oh wait, that’s actually everyone on Dancing With the Stars). It feels especially strange in the middle of the night with only the hum of my computer and an Edger Allen Poe ticking sound emanating from the house somewhere. And I’ve been away so long something has happened to the Word Press formatting so I’m typing in plain text with random code popping up when I try to italicize. What’s up with that?

Usually I’m pretty good with the sleep thing. Truth is, I kind of love to sleep. Thick, dreamy, bottomless sleep. For someone whose primary coping mechanism is escape, what’s not to love? I hate missing sleep. I feel cheated out of something that I can never get back. It’s not the same to tack on a few hours the next night or to take a nap. It’s like missing the middle of a movie – if you watch that part the next day you experience the movie in a completely different way than if you watched it from start to finish.

You hear a lot about our relationship with food. How we nourish or abuse or fret or sabotage or indulge or languish over food. Magazine articles, books, talk shows, and therapists tell us how to work on our relationship with food in the same way we work on our relationship with lovers or parents or children or co-workers. But rarely do we hear about our relationship with sleep. Sleep is our mistress. Oh, she gets some attention from the health gurus and the mattress salesmen. But she definitely takes a backseat to food. Personally I would like to break up with food and start seeing sleep. Start talking about her with my friends and family. Buy her sexy lingerie and take her away for the weekend. Marry her, make her mine, grow old with her by my side and die before she does. Yep, I want the whole enchilada (oh wait, that’s my relationship with food creeping in).

It’s 5 AM. The alarm is set for 6. I have to either shower and get on with the day or go back for a few stolen moments with sleep. What would you do?



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I Stand Here Freshly Pressed

I never thought it would happen. You bloggers out there know what I’m talking about. That startling moment when you are recognized. When your tiny corner of the virtual world gets someone’s attention. When your Stats page shows a bar chart on steroids and a wave of glorious comments pop up out of nowhere for your approval. If you’re a Word Press blogger, you know it’s all about the F word. That’s right. When you’re Fresh, baby. When the Word Press powers that be reach out and pluck you out of the gazillion posts that get served up every day and stick you on their Freshly Pressed landing page.

When it happened to me I was so excited that I screamed for my other half and she thought something happened to one of the dogs (not one of the kids of course but that’s fodder for another post). I thought something was wrong at first. That I’d been hacked. Suddenly I had over 600 views in one day. Over 900 the next. The most I ever had prior to this was 79 (but who’s counting?). Then it dawned on me. I’d been Pressed. I went to that ever sweet mecca of chosen blog posts and there I was, peanuts and all.

A few days have passed, the glory has faded, and I thought I should share a few things from the experience. Here goes:

1) First, it was incredibly exciting–ridiculously so, like I just sold a novel or got a phone call from Ellen to do her show. I have no life.

2) I thought, crap, why didn’t I redesign this blog ages ago? Peanuts? What’s that about? And the font, tiny and boring and my God I rarely include any original big shiny colorful photos of food or cool places or nature. I’m so embarrassed. It was like having half the neighborhood stop by without warning and your house is so dirty the kids can play ball with the dust bunnies or the t-shirt you’re wearing is from a Barry Manilow concert.

3) I was humbled. I received so many beautiful comments and I’ve tried really hard to reply to them all but I haven’t gotten to everyone. Please excuse my lousy blogging ways but know that if you read the post and commented, every word of encouragement sent me soaring. Every story about someone’s loss choked me up. People out there are amazing. It made me think about readers and what an incredible group of people they are and that if you write you have to think about them. You have to do this in part for them. And you kinda love them. It’s bizarre!

4) It was the first time I ever put any of my writing out there–I mean my writing that I hope gets finished and published somewhere someday. So it was an especially exciting/humbling/scary thing to have happen. It made me feel this tiny bit of possibility.

5) I hate not knowing who Freshly Pressed me! How the heck does it even happen? I probably should know the answer to that but like I said, I’m a lousy blogger. Is it one person? By vote? A random spin of the wheel? If you FPed me, let me know! I’ll bake you vegan cookies and name my next pet after you.

6) It was short-lived. Fame is fleeting after all. But I want to thank anyone who stopped by, anyone who took the time to read the post, or looked around a bit at past posts. It is amazing that you are out there. Reading, writing, high-fiving and hugging other bloggers. Making things real, and fun, and especially, fresh.


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