Sunday, May 01, 2005

#36 - Deficit Blogging

"I haven't seen any blogs lately," quoth Mrs. Woody.

I nodded. "Well, you know, I've been pretty busy lately. I just haven't had time to catch up on the 'Sphere; or get worked up about issues much less write about them."

"Those weren't the ones I meant," she replied.

I concurred. "I know, I know... but the Muse can't get through when I'm so distracted."

It's true. Because I'm not one of the full-timers in the 'Sphere, that means I spend my time where my attention is most needed. Generally, I'm either working a real job ("More work! Fewer resources!") or working at home. Either way, I've not been terribly prolific these past several weeks.

On the other hand, could there be some deeper meaning to Mrs. Woody's comment?

My extended family (along with my ex-wife) call me "the Great Communicator." They're kidding, of course. What they mean to say is, "Eventually he'll get around to telling someone about it, if he hasn't died first." This tends to be a problem during certain uncomfortable situations. For example, a surly gentleman might be at the door, and I'll suddenly look at my wife and say, "Oh, nuts! I forgot, Honey... they're repossessing the car today. I meant to tell you..." (Note: this particular scenario has not materialized, but I wanted you to know it was entirely possible. This is precisely why Mrs. Woody now handles the finances.)

Every family has at least one "Great Communicator" and one "Bulletin Board." My sister is our Bulletin Board. She's the one who calls every single member of the family at least once a week so she can be the one to break the news to someone else. I once took to calling her "Eyewitness News" until I realized it was a misnomer: She doesn't so much witness things as find out about them vicariously. Also, like any good bulletin board, you'll only get the information she contains if you ask. Which I never do.

Anyway, I simply have a nasty habit of forgetting to mention things that happen on a daily basis. For all my wife knows, I could have been promoted to CEO of my company. That fantasy hasn't been reflected in my paychecks, though, so I think she's still aware that I haven't had a real promotion in over ten years. The joys of direct deposit.

I've also learned over the years that some wives feel like Internet Widows. This isn't usually true in the Woody household, because Mrs. Woody and I both happen to be geeks (and I say that in a most loving way!). She's also a teacher, and spends just as much time online as I do. So if she ever feels like a Widow, I guess I can retaliate by feeling like a Widower. But we never do. We spend just as much time snooping over each other's shoulders as we do surfing on our own.

That's why I was only mildly surprised when Mrs. Woody heartily accepted my blog habit. I suspect she immediately deduced that she would, in fact, get more information out of her hubby by reading his blog than she ever would in the course of everyday conversation. Especially when I branched away from the political rantings of the Woundup in favor of my familial writings on The Inner Dad.

The way I see it, via The Inner Dad, my wife now knows that I am indeed aware that we have two youngsters still living with us. I even know their names, despite the fact that I only ever refer to them as "the Woodyettes." At least I recognize the fact that they are of differing age and height. Hair color, even.

Thus, when Woody hits a dry spell - for whatever reason - Mrs. Woody worries. Her best source of hubby-generated thinking has dried up! Disaster looms!

Aw, who'm I kidding? The one person on the planet with whom I communicate regularly and frequently is Mrs. Woody. This is as it should be. If for no other reason, Mrs. Woody can read me like a book and has a knack for asking just the right question to get my mouth motor running. Also, if Mrs. Woody ain't happy, I ain't doing my job.

So, I guess what Mrs. Woody really meant when she pointed out that my blog was running a little dry was that she missed what I write. She is, after all my biggest fan.

I live for my fans.

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