Madeleine Is Frustrated...

...with so many things! ERT!

I don't have Internet at home anymore--or sometimes I do, sometimes I don't, but I can't count on it; B's MacBook Pro is letting me down!--and that makes it very difficult for me to post on the Mildred every day. I thought I would be able to post at my office, and usually I can, but this is my employer's busiest season, and I have a lot of work to do all the time (we're understaffed, of course; we can't hire anyone because of the bad economy, and also, no raises!) and coworkers are always walking behind me to go to meetings--I sit next to a conference room--and stealing glances at my computer screen as they go by. (I know they do this, because I do this as I wander in the company, moving work around. Mostly I don't recognize what they are reading all day on the Internet, which always surprises me, because I thought that everyone read the same things, or at least the same things as I read.) And I am fearful, I guess, of someone catching me--though not fearful of someone catching me not working as you might expect; everyone spends the whole day, it seems, trying not to work. I am fearful of someone catching me writing a blog. They might see the name of the blog and start reading it and tell/sneer to my colleagues about it and they would certainly wonder what I was writing a blog about, though not in a nice way. I still wonder what I am writing a blog about--and am I doing it right? Is the voice consistent? Is it interesting? Does the absence of Agnes hurt the blog?

And, yes, readers, I see it--these are all of the same questions, the same frustrations I have with my writing. In some ways, I still feel like I need permission to write fiction, just as I feel like I need permission to write this blog. (I was going to say this "stupid" blog, but I stopped myself.) I need to know that people think the blog is worth reading before I write it. And I need to know that my stories are worth reading before I write them. (This is a problem! A big problem! And sad. And it brings up so many questions that I can't answer/ponder in this post.) It comes down to the fact that I think writing a blog is self-indulgent--what makes a person think that they are SO interesting, that their experiences, their thoughts, etc., etc., are SO worthwhile and relevant that they need to be put out into the world and shared with strangers? Do I bring this attitude to my fiction? Clearly, and sadly, yes.

I will explore this further later on. Now I have to go to work. I am going to be late--again.

But first I have to judge my post: it started off well and was funny and lighthearted, I think, but by the end it's sort of depressing. I'm worried about what you think of me, readers...

And I know there is only one reader, really, and Agnes, of course. I hope it stays this way forever, that no one ever reads this blog! (That's what I say, anyway; secretly I want everyone to read it. I wouldn't be writing this if I didn't want everyone to read it. I think it's funny and fantastic and sad. Same way with my stories, etc., etc. And now it's on the blog so it's not secret anymore--I'm trying not to censor myself--except for the parentheses, which make it sort of secret, anyway; not everyone reads inside the parentheses. That's what my teachers told me in first grade: Don't cross out your mistakes--just put parentheses around them; we won't read them! Anyway, this post proves that the most interesting bits of this blog are in parentheses. If you get bored, readers, just read what's in parentheses.)

Am I making any sense, readers? Can you follow my thoughts? Are you frightened for me? Now I feel bad about myself.

By the way, Agnes, if you're reading: I'm using the new sugar bowl! It looks lovely. Also, Agnes, please don't smoke while you are reading this blog. And, Agnes, our reader misses you, as do I.

No writing last night.