Whoa Nellie! This past week I woke up from one of my many naps and, lo and behold, there’s a whole pile of likes and comments for my post This Will Happen to You. What in the world is going on here? During my sleep time, Word Press had Freshly Pressed me! In two days, I got over 1400 hits. Holy crap! Now what do I do?
Well, I’m a curmudgeon so, naturally, I find a way to complain about it.
Before I do that, let me thank everyone on my blogroll, my followers and readers. In particular, thanks to all my regular responders – from Le Clown and A Gripping Life; As I Age, Carrie Rubin and Diane Henders; to Madame Weebles and Harper Faulkner and all the rest. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
The post was based upon an incident that happened to me. I sold something of sentimental value and regretted it instantly.
On Freshly Pressed, I was labeled as “regrets” and squeezed between a post on depression and the presidential debates. So the top three posts to greet you in FP-land on Monday morning were the trifecta of mental illness, regrets and foreign policy. I wonder if the editors at Freshly Pressed felt that your Mondays were starting off too cheerfully.
The editors at FP assured me that my views would drop off rapidly and I would return to the anonymity to which I belong. [FP didn’t say that but it makes for a good story.]
From my perspective, my top three posts so far have been on misgivings, animal contraception and alternate names for death. If I can add ones on the bubonic plague, irritable bowels and the joy of macro-economics, my job here may be done. Until then, I’m left with the paradoxical task of being grouchy about being pleased. This goes in stages: