People understand a real job in which you must first get dressed and then go do a pap’s smear. People do not understand a job which has no dress code, requires that you rarely leave your house, and in which your fifty favorite ‘coworkers’ live in your computer. To make matters worse, you find yourself involved in online Christmas tours and virtual cookie exchanges. Imagine my chagrin when I’m trying to explain to my friend Donia why I won’t be here for the first day or two when she comes into town because I’ll be at a blogging convention. I said it quiet like that and then had to repeat myself. Seven times. It didn’t go well. For her or me. I wrote about Donia here and she’s a truetolife-wonderful friend-tease the %$#@ out of ya for going to your Star Trek convention- kinda of a girl.
It’s moments like that when I want to call some real friend and go out for real, highly caffeinated coffee and eat a real cookies and……*talk*. And talk and talk and talk. Instead of type…and type….and type. And I would do that, except my girls and I are attached at the hip and I’ve got bread to bake and teenagers to mold into decent adults and presents to wrap——and well, a lot of typing and hunkering down to do.