Cold Coffee

“She is too fond of books, and it has turned her brain.”
Louisa May Alcott, Author of Little Women.
~ ~ ~

She had typed out a long flowery essay the week before. Not only typed it, but retyped, deleted, rewrote, added, changed, turned it up side down and back again, and then revised it a few more times than she would ever admit. In the end, the blogger was was not at all satisfied with her speech. The question was, would the people of the land of Blog willingly let her go? No matter what she did, her long spiel was still filled with too many I's and me's and a bunch of sentimental fluffiness, none of which was important in the scheme of things, not to mention it would have surely bored even her best friends to death. So she scrapped that idea and decided to go with the nutshell version (revised, of course). It sounded a wee bit calloused, short and to the point, not unlike a telegram, but she was feeling more excited than sentimental and sappy by the minute, as evidenced by the forgotten second cup of coffee that had now grown cold. Uncut and raw, it went something like this...

"Kay - here's the thing - I'm officially unplugging myself from the land of Blog - sad to say I'm on my way, won't be back for many a day - when and if I return (if the Lord wills) the format will be oh so completely, unrecognizably different...have I mentioned I'm tired of brown?
don't worry - will tell you
...til then - God bless, Jesus is coming back soon, may you be found living your lives for Him!"

Tired of monkeying around with it, and wanting to get on with the work at hand, the blogger knew that if she didn't post this today, this very minute, she would end up changing, retyping, and revising it over and over, being the perfectionist she was. If she took too long, she knew it would only be a matter of hours before another reader would write her and win her affections, filling her with remorse and regret over her decision, like so many countless other times before, and she would not have the nerve to carry out her threats to leave. Needing inspiration, she took a deep breath and glanced over at her bulletin board at the quote she had printed out a few days earlier from an article she'd read...

"After all, editors around the world are sitting at their desks, checking their watches, waiting to open an envelope from the next Mark Twain.

It happens.

Sometimes."

Jim Fletcher, So you want to be an author …
www.wnd.com

"If that's true," whispered the blogger, "I'd better get to work."

The coffee maker beeped three loud high pitched shut off beeps. Had two hours already passed? The blogger thought about how all her life experiences had been guided by the hand of God for such a time as this. Already the creative juices were flowing through her slowly unfogging blogging brain, waiting to burst out onto a blank page. A picture of the lonely white shiny MacBook she had met in the store just two short days ago, with it's glow in the dark keyboard, and long lasting 10 hour battery, flashed before her. "I'm coming back to buy you," she had practiced typing on its pretty black keys. Yes, this was the right thing to do. There would never be another moment like this. It was now or never. The blogger swallowed a sip of cold coffee, took a deep breath, and without further hesitation, clicked on PUBLISH POST.

Strange how she had always thought this inevitable moment would be a sad one. How wrong she had been. There was no turning back now. Someday she would be able to come back, but before she left, there was still one more very important thing (or two) she simply had to say to the swamp people before she closed the window which had miraculously opened to the swampland of Blog five years ago...

[To be continued shortly...]