Why are these blobs twitching?

When I started this blog I was told:

“Make sure you have a specific topic, or no one will read it.”

So I formulated my blog topic.  What am I passionate about?  Psychology and humor. Yeah, I thought, I’ll address one particular psychological theory or idea or study or piece of human behavior and couch it in a funny story.  Then everyone will think I’m brilliant and hysterical and a great writer they’ll all love me. Easy enough.

So I started my blog. Like a parent, I had ideas about what I didn’t want my baby blog to be:

  • Sarcastic, mean or insensitive
  • About a whiny, frustrated actress in L.A.
  • Whiny posts about the challenges of the writing process
  • A slew of whiny posts
  • Writing about writing a blog
  • Constantly about me
  • Boring
  • Bitchy
  • Dark
  • Scatter-brained
  • A sweeping variety of topics and types of writing

I did think it should be:

  • Brilliant
  • Informative
  • Incredibly well-written
  • Hysterically funny
  • Compassionate to all
  • Uplifting
  • Really deep – to show off my brilliance
  • Focused: Always within the realm of psychology and humor
  • Something folks would share/email/facebook/tweet/text….anything to get me the applause I miss when I’m not onstage, even if it’s virtual, without revealing my hidden daily desire for applause.

So I wrote a few things. And people read them and commented and seemed to genuinely like them.  But I would look back on those posts and slap my blog in the face, screaming “Bad girl! That’s not funny enough!  You think that’s deep? Look at this person’s blog, she’s deep! Why can’t you be more like her?”  And I would make my blog sit in the box I had made for her.  She would wriggle uncomfortably.

“But…but…I don’t want to sit here!”

I’d slap her again. “You’ll sit there and you’ll like it!”

“But…but…I want to run, I want to catch mosquitoes, I want to pee in the bushes, I want to explore!”

Another slap. “You listen to me, young blog, you will get stung, you will kill the plants and get caught with your pants down and no one will like you!  Stay here in this blog box I made especially for you where you’re safe!”

After several weeks of her whining and me beating the shit out of her (during which time, nothing was posted), she had had enough. She exploded and screamed at me. “Stop being such a fucking Twitching Blob!!”  And with that, she busted the blog box into 41 pieces and tore off into the woods, climbing trees with her toenails, eating berries with no names and shitting on branches.

So.  She wins.  No more Ms. Nice Blog.  I reveal myself for the Giant Twitching Blob I am.  I’m not sure what will happen here anymore.  But I can guarantee it may not be polite, it may not be funny, it may not even be a blog post…you might see unpublished short stories or essays occasionally.  I might blow a fuse.  I might not. I might laugh so hard, I piss myself and hope you do the same. I might get gravely serious only to turn around and throw the literary equivalent of a water balloon in your face. You might think I’m brilliant and funny.  You might think I’m a wackjob.

But that’s okay.  Fuck all of y’all.  I don’t care if you like me.  And that may just end up being the reason you do like me so very, very much.





But really, why “Twitching Blobs”?

In homage to the most influential figure in my college career, Skidmore College Psychology Professor, Sheldon Solomon, who has often described extremely anxious people as “twitching blobs of biological protoplasm.”

And because it makes me laugh.