Monica says some of the nicest things about me anyone's ever written on her Traces blog at sweetnsour.org. WOW! I'm truly loved.
If you haven't checked Monica out, do. And I'm not saying that just because she likes my stuff. (Although I'm still smiling about that.) I enjoy reading Monica because she writes from a place so familiar to me--from the land of depression and joy and place of living that goes on in between.
Allow me to indulge that one narcisistic bone I have in my body (cough) and list some of the reasons why Monica declared her love for me:
She writes:
1. She lived in a blue little house.
2. She and Jenna knows what 'Toink' means.
3. She finds treasures in her dreams. Anything is possible.
4. She finds new year's eve as much depressing as I do. Glass half empty? Half full?
5. She hand-made her 'blogroll'. That's right, added one by one. And boy, that is long!
6. She can make my cry talking about a 'blogpalm'.
7. She wrote this: "And I'm realizing that these oak speakers, yep, these right here on the floor, are resurrecting, if only briefly, her great grandfather and her grandfather. Here we are, four generations, gathered in my living room joined by music recorded in 1967. And I hear myself laughing on the CD, and I sound just like her. It's like an echo of an echo of something so familiar. I sound so happy. I was so happy."
8. And this: "So far from there now. Now I live in here with you all, and my physical office space is my laptop. I feel now about my Dell laptop and DSL connection the way I once felt about my physical office. A convenient, always-open window into Blogaria now means so much more to me than a window onto Peachtree Street."
9. And this: "For two years we lived in a war zone, dancing between Uncle Daddy's drunken back yard rages and the kids' torment. For two years I did battle with them whenever I had to. It didn't change them. It didn't change anything in that house or neighborhood. It changed me."
10. I don't have to explain to her how I feel when things get... ugly. She knows. And I know she knows. And she knows I know that.
Monica, that love goes right back atcha, babe.
