Here’s the thing: I have a teeny-weeny insecurity problem. There, I’ve said it. Now you know. Whew, it feels good to get that off these double-A’s (chest, that is, not batteries). I know you are probably shocked. “But, Subourbon Wife, you seem like you just embody self-confidence,” you are probably saying.
But it’s true. Here I sit and write day after day, and for what? To get an occasional email from my mother defending herself? Or a comment from that kooky woman who calls herself my aunt?? The point of starting the blog was to attempt to get a following for my upcoming book “Subourbon Wife”. But writing this thing seems a lot like talking to myself (which I have no problem doing; I am by far the most interesting person I have ever encountered.) But I can talk to myself without having to type, or even open my eyes. And we all know I’m too lazy to do something just for the sake of doing it.
Maybe I am just PMS-ing and that’s why I am questioning whether to continue. Maybe I’ll awaken tomorrow inspired to continue pouring out my heart and soul to a computer who doesn’t seem to love me back. Or maybe I’ll lie around and sulk. Or, best yet, maybe I’ll get a tub of ice cream and an US Weekly and make fun of the celebrities in my head while crunching on some Pamprin…
