OK, Enough of That Nonsense

So, you guys: I have an explanation for why I’ve been sharing such embarrassing things on my blog for the past two days. I’m officially coming down with something, and, apparently, virus molecules (or whatever they are) have clogged my (already quite ineffective) Filter for Determining Appropriate Blog Topics.

I am mortified—mortified—by some of the things I’ve confessed. So I’m going to try to make up for it tonight by sharing some of my better qualities. This, I realize, is also called bragging. I think that’s only fair, since I’ve surely made you feel a whole lot better about yourself over the past 48 hours.

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What Have I Done?

OK, I seriously have so much work to do today, but I also have a commitment to myself to honor. So before I write something I’m getting paid to write, I’ll write this:

Holy hell, did I put into writing that I haven’t cleaned my bathroom in weeks… and then actually hit publish

I did, didn’t I? Well, then. You might as well know these things, too:

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Some Things I Pro’ly Ought Not Admit Publically

A couple of weeks ago, I made a commitment to start my day by writing something I’m not getting paid to write. I figure it’s the only way my book is ever going to happen. Plus, writing is good for my mental health.

And I could use more of that.

So far, my track record has been pretty miserable—but it’s better than it would’ve been had I not made that commitment. So I’m still counting it a win.

Now, here’s the bad news for the four of you who read my posts regularly: I’m having trouble coming up with any writing topics worth a damn, so that means—at least for a little while—you’ll  be subjected to Kelley-focused drivel. I know. Wheeeee. If we’re lucky, it won’t take long for me to get opinionated and loud-mouthed again about stuff that actually matters.

For now, though, you get this: Some confessions.

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Kneeling at the Side of a Stingray Pool

I have a bit of a complicated relationship with God these days. And by “these days,” I suppose I actually mean “my entire adult life.” My pendulum swings widely, and unpredictably, between hook-line-and-sinker-for-Jesus and not-at-all-sure-I-buy-any-of-this-like-at-all.

Interestingly enough, I tend to have my most spiritual (I guess that’s the right word) experiences when I’m in full-on skeptic mode. Take, for instance, my recent trip to the St. Louis Zoo.

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On the Occasion of My 25th Wedding Anniversary

It was January 25, 1992. I was barely 21 years old, seven months away from receiving my bachelor’s degree, and, on that night, I was wearing an impossibly puffy, disastrously sparkly, stupidly expensive gown. I begged my bridesmaids to tell me jokes as they fussed with my gigantic hair and smoothed my over-indulgent train. “I’m going to throw up. I really, really am.”

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I Need to Talk to You About My Car

All right, here’s the deal: I drive an Audi TT convertible.

Given that I’m sort of a loudmouth about poverty and privilege and materialism and minimalism, that may seem a little hypocritical. So before you go all TMZ on me and hire someone with a drone to scope out my (non-existent) multi-million-dollar ranch, I want you to know something about my mid-life-crisis-mobile: Jack talked me into it.

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Area of Refuge

Hi. It’s Kelley. It’s been more than two months since my last confession post.

The last few weeks, I’ve been wholly self-absorbed. My youngest squirrel graduated from high school. We sold one house and bought another (much smaller) one. We discovered none of our furniture would fit in the new place, so we spent hours shopping for a bunch of new stuff (which is not nearly as fun as it sounds) (first-world problems).

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