First thing this morning I woke up to a very sad, poignant and beautiful email from a blogging friend who shall remain nameless. It left me with a lump in my throat, gratitude for life and a less tainted perspective, like a good spring rainshower. It also left me with the dawning awareness that I have met some flipping lovely people in this blogging malarky - men I'd want to adopt or matchmake or at least drink lots and lots of beer with, and women I really wish were in-laws, the kind you give a big hug to and spend hours catching, up once every family event. No I'm not wishing my brothers on them! Please. I guess I'd say sisters, but I never had one so there's no benchmark.
I had a quick flick back through past comments - Cori admitting her teenage self tried to make out in a very large cardboard box; Bulb voluntarily upping my search engine listings for very rude phrases, all sorts of confessions and acts of kindness. I worked out I ain't doing so bad after all, if the calibre of commenters is anything to go by.
Dear Doris spent what time she could, all day, playing with my blog code (because I am htmlexic or ilcoderate, or something) as she was the hero to first point out how screwy it had gone, and then rush to the rescue. Above and beyond the call, and all that.
Ally, who is having a rotten day of her own, still signed in to volunteer the same and both Ally and Badaunt, who commented on another post, also reminded me how constant they are (as in level headed, far sighted, calm, calming.) By that I mean that, as usual, no matter how strident, squiffy or just plain ssssssomething else my posts get, both will find something nice to say if they pop by. The good guys. Jane too; thanks Jane.
Milt Bogs the funnyman, 'May His Tribe Increase', showed himself up as a gentleman and a genius. Geniuses are the only ones that can spot the obvious as in 'once you know it, then its obvious'. The stuff that us ordinary folk can't see for love nor money, until it's pointed out. He sat looking at the archive pages of all my recent posts and pinpointed one that was causing the glitch. Poor Doris has been scowling at the main code looking for a fault that wasnt there, and all the time it was Dumbo here (me) mucking up a Technorati tag in a post, that caused it all.
Last but not least, Ella M knocked me for six. If you have read her blog, her dry, incisive wit takes no prisoners - no throwing dollies out of prams, just wicked and perfectly targeted humour that leaves no room at all for a comeback. Ella signed on here and paid me just about the most perfect compliment I could ever hope to receive.
So, this full moon; maybe it has got everybody on the back foot, or howling, but if I could choose between the slow slide down or the rollercoaster, I'd take this high every time. Wow.
Now all I have to do is hatch a dastardly plot to eliminate the several million ahead of me in the queue for the throne (Doh! The encrusted one, not the toilet. No, wait, that doesn't sound right.) Ahem, the English throne, so I can become Queen. The Queen gets two birthdays, and I think that 6th July would be the perfect date for my second one. But I'm not going to ride a horse or do parade inspection, alright?