Acquainted With What You Think

“I give birth to interpret a few of the articles on your website trendy, and I extremely like your fashionableness of blogging. I added it to my favorites web age list and last will and testament be checking back soon. Will contain out of order my site as highly and fail me be acquainted with what you think. Thanks.”

This was the latest comment posted on my blog, or at least attempted, as I set it up to approve comments—just for this reason. I get comments from time to time on my blogs, which I love, no matter what they say. It’s fun to know what people think as they read, how they relate, or how they view whatever I was blogging about. I always get excited when I see I have a comment. However, three-fourths of the time, the comments are like the above—often much more confusing, actually. This one made enough sense that I thought it was funny. I know spam is there to either put a virus on your computer by clicking on it or sneak in advertisements for other sites, etc. However, most of the ones that get posted to my blog are like this one, no active link, not adverting anything, and seems to be true incoherent Ramblings of the English language. Which, maybe is exactly the point—maybe they are trying to hold a mirror up to me through example. Hmmm… Either way, it’s like a horrible MadLib gone bad. After I get over my momentary flash of frustration about getting excited to read a real comment, I often enjoy the spam. After all, who doesn’t wanna give birth to trendy? And I hope some rich stranger leaves me in their last will and testament. I also appreciate when people make up words, since I often do that to suit my need. It’s my favorite thing about Sarah Pailn. Really. There are several things people can make fun of her for, but I really find that part of her relatable and endearing, and in no sense a sign of a lower intellect. Fashionableness. I mean, come on! That rocks! However, I just noticed. No squiggle red line under fashionableness. Must be a real word. Dooh! Good thing I teach special ed.
I must confess, the past several days I have stared longingly at my bottle of anti-depressants wishing I could overdose—not in an effort to kill myself or anything, but surely if one helps a little bit a whole bottle might actually make you happy, or at least block out the ache. Don’t worry. I know it won’t. I’m not actually tempted, as no part of me wants to miss my nephew’s life or any new mermaid merchandise yet to come on the market; however, I do wish that was how those pills worked. Really want my life back. I must say though. After hours of wrapping presents for all the kids in my life and friends last night, my tree is officially stuffed full of gorgeous gifts. That sight really did cause an untainted pleasure. Both for the sheer beauty, and for the anticipation of the giving. While Christmas is more painful that I ever thought possible, there are flashes of how much I used to love it. That is really fun, and I’m so thankful for it.