Relapse

IMG_1606When I was a little girl, my parents often let me go spend the night with friends.

You know, because it’s what little girls did. You stayed up way past the point that you should have, played house, barbies, pretended to marry your friend’s little brother, and promised to be best friends forever and made the bracelets to prove it.

And, of course, in an all-to-foretelling of my geeky future self, I played “Office”. Office was my favorite childhood game – and my Mom was the best facilitator of “Office” in the world. For my birthday spend-the-night parties every year, she would drive me around to all of the banks and ask them if they had free pens and pads that we could use.

She would help me create and print out personalized checks for each friend that was coming over. We would even cut them, stack them, and glue one edge and set them under an Encyclopedia to dry, thereby making actual BOOKS of personalized checks.

(Ali will read this one day and say, “What’s an Encyclopedia? Do you mean WIKIpedia? “)

We would order big rolls of “Tickets” from Oriental Trading – like the kind that you got at the fair.

(Not sure what that had to do with “Office”, except that it was another fascinating paper-pushing activity. And I LOVED my paper-pushing activities.)

So yes – I have been destined to be a geeky accountant since birth.

And yes – I STILL love writing checks, at least when I am not in a hurry and have the time to savor the activity.

But that’s beside the point. (I just thought you needed something else to laugh at me about.)

Whenever I spent the night at a friend’s house, there was a 50/50 chance that it wouldn’t “stick”.

I really have no idea why my parents put up with this, but I had this bad issue of getting “homesick”. I would literally have the 8 year old version of a full-on panic attack – uncontrollable sobbing, illogical reasoning, the whole bit. And I could not be solaced by anyone but my parents. And not over the phone, mind you. Only by them coming to PICK ME UP and TAKE ME HOME.

And (at least the way I remember it), I never got homesick at a convenient time – like, say, 8pm.

It was always more like, say, 3am.

Like I said, I have no idea why my parents put up with this. They were obviously more determined than I would be as a parent in that situation. I imagine their reasoning for allowing this to happen more than twice was to help me “grow up” and “learn to be away from them”.

At any rate, I’m having a bit of childhood relapse.

It’s currently 9:30pm, and I’m on my second day of Blogher, and there are at least half a dozen parties going on downstairs and in the surrounding areas.

But, here I sit, in my hotel room, by myself.

I COULD tell you that I needed a bit of alone time – I’m certainly used to having some of that on a daily basis, and being that I have three roommates in a two-full-sized-bed hotel room, coming to the room during all the parties is a good time to be alone.

Or I COULD tell you that I needed to work on uploading videos to Say it Face to Face, the website I’m promoting this weekend, because that’s true too.

But no, I’m going to be a bit more honest (and scarily vulnerable).

I came upstairs to “freshen up”.

i.e., to try to get ahold of my emotions and make it look like I wasn’t trying not to cry.

I really hope that no one at the conference reads this while we’re still at the conference, because I certainly don’t want to be branded as the Blogher Wuss, but if I had to over-analyze my irrational feelings (and I certainly can’t help but do that CONTINUOUSLY whenever my normally-rational self starts going haywire), I would say that it is a combination of:

  • 4 hours of very fitful sleep last night,
  • 2 days of hardly eating (it’s hard to eat when you’re trying to make small talk with complete strangers, don’t you think?),
  • 674 Miles between me and my amazing husband and precious little girl,
  • 1,492 Strangers with which I’m attempting small talk (1,500 Blogher attendees – me – the 7 people I know = 1,492.)

AND, I think that about sums it up.

I’m going to go now, and head to the half dozen parties. I’m sure it will be great and fun, especially if I can learn how to make small talk and SHUT MY HEAD UP.

I know, I am not worthy to be at Blogher.

I’m just not the party animal that these two were: IMG_1628

Saturday Morning – It is now a bright and sunny day, I enjoyed a great night of sleep, and I am liberating myself from the morning keynote and sitting outside the hotel, on the riverwalk, in the sunshine. I am about to go get more free stuff from the exhibition hall. Life is good, I am reenergized, and today will be great. But, although this post is a bit on the vulnerable side for me, I have to stay true to recounting my TRUE Blogher experience for you.

(And, if that postscript seemed a little odd (which it probably did not), it is because I can not use contractions at the moment – I am typing on The 5 Minutes for Mom laptop that I am using this weekend, and the apostrophe key is typing an è – and with shift, it is È. Do Canadians not use contractions!! Augh! No question marks either! Canadians must not be a punctuational bunch.)