Don't mess with Texas...

My eyes are still burning. They’re all puffy and swollen. And I feel like an idiot.

My kids are right. I should give up blogging and get a real life.

Rarely do I put a comment on someone’s blog, but when I do, I think it through carefully and edit it three times before actually posting it. And then I worry for a few hours that my thoughts were dumb and that my amateur writing skills aren’t good enough to properly express myself. I’ve disabled the feature that allows bloggers to find my blog through my comments. I’m too embarrassed to boldly advertise.

That said, I’ve left a few comments in the past 4 months on Jay’s blog. He’s a gifted storyteller and a talented writer. And his blog is very engaging. Without fail, his posts hit the mark, either causing me to smile like a fool, tear up with emotion or pray for someone in his life. He is a red-neck Texan with a pregnant-with-twins wife and a tendency to use foul language every third word.

His story last night had to do with a southern Baptist preacher smacking him on the forehead as he was coerced into making a request for a miracle. He had been 10 years old at the time. His miracle wish for perfect vision was not granted.

I was the first one to comment and I wrote the following:

You want a miracle? Look at your wife's belly. Heck, look into her eyes. Can ya see the love? Doesn't that feel like a miracle some days? How bout that moon? All those stars? God hears your heart's desire. He is blessing you with more miracles than your mind can process. Don't blow Him off cuz some quack whacked yer noggin. End of sermon.

His response, about 20 comments and 12 hours later:

jane, it was meant to be entertaining. lighten the f*ck up.

(‘Cept he put in the “U”)

I felt sick. My whole body responded. I broke out in a sweat and fought off tears.

Being a glutton for punishment, and hoping I read his comments wrong earlier, I went back to his blog after work.

He had added some comments on top of mine:

WARNING:
First comment is preachy and humourless. If reading comments made by people who have their heads up their *sses gets your blood boiling – do not read. Skip to number 2.

And “Sloth” a blogger whose photography I greatly admire (and told her so in one short solitary comment) wrote:
Super story, super warning. Oh, people and their self-righteous indignation.

Tears were immediate. An uncontrollable flow started and I was powerless to stop the gushing. I signed off quickly then headed up to my bedroom.
“Why are you crying mom?”
All three guys saw me dash to my room and were concerned.
What could I say? Some guy, a continent away, hurt my feelings on his blog? That a photographer from Maine was mean?
How pathetic am I?

Knowing that I needed release, I sobbed into my pillow for half an hour.
Of course, I now have a screaming headache and my eyes feel gross.

But I have learned a lesson.


Won’t do that again.




Yes, this whole episode reeks of PMS. And that is very alarming. Cuz one month from now, when these emotions roll around again, I'll still be in Europe. Being responsible for and living very closely with thirty 15 year olds. Having PMS in Italy, with 8 days of bus travel still to go, is simply not an option.

What kind of drugs can I take?