Do you ever look at all the people making sexy fish-faces on The Facebook and wonder how we got here?

Then, in the midst of my judginess, I look at my own damn profile picture, which is one of the only pictures I've ever taken in which I'm not smiling, because I was trying to be serious and authorial and not giddy. Totally no different than The Facebook. I'm guilty.

Sometimes I get so tired of myself and trying to promote my writing and trying to be, just, well, MORE. More as a writer, more as an employee, more as a mother, better, faster, more.

I have plenty of friends who ask me why I feel compelled to write books on top of all the other things I do in my life, and I think the real answer is that I take myself too seriously. When I'm honest with myself, I know there are almost 300,000 books coming out every year and it's a bloody miracle if anyone finds mine, reads it AND likes it, so sometimes it seems very silly to keep trying. And here I am, writing another one, not knowing if this next one will be bigger, faster, more or not.

Then I think, well, if I didn't try, then what point is there in doing anything? I was commenting on a post this week about a woman who doesn't like to make her bed because she doesn't see the point, but I always make my bed and the point is to have a made bed because I take myself and my bed very, very seriously. I take everything seriously, except for The Facebook, because The Facebook depresses the shit out of me and every time I go over there I find myself feeling bad that I'm not doing everything better, faster, more, and I hate feeling like that, like just living without hurting anyone else isn't enough.

I think I might need a vacation. 

You guys have totally got me about the Mominatrix t-shirt thing. I need to just suck it up and get Beloved to take the picture. I felt a little silly asking him to do it, I admit. Not because he doesn't like the shirt or doesn't like the site, but because I'm asking him to take a picture of me attempting to look halfway decent in a t-shirt on a Sunday afternoon. Sometimes I wonder what my family thinks of how into my blogerific life I actually am.

Actually, I am afraid to ask. I'm pretty sure they think I am a huge nerd, possibly trending to a narcissistic nerd. I mean, seriously? If you showed blog posts to someone in 1974, they'd be all WTFDOYOUTHINKYOUAREDOINGFOOL? Why do you have a photo of only your eyeballs on a computer? Or a cartoon version of yourself? WTFWTFWTF????????

The writing never bothers me. Promoting the writing never bothers me. Trying to take a decent photo of myself bothers me, because I either look unnaturally posed or matronly. That's why I have changed my profile picture on this blog twice since it became a photo of me and not of the little angel (back in the anonymous days of 2004 and 2005). The first one was taken by my professional photographer friend and the second was a desperate camera-phone attempt to make sure people knew I was me at BlogHer and not a bobbed, glasses-wearing, two-years-younger version of myself.

So. There you have it. I am a big wienie when it comes to having my photograph taken unless I trust the photographer has editing skillz. Which I totally do not.

But I will work on getting that t-shirt thing spelled forward. I can't believe I was so worried about getting the photo done I didn't even think about the laws of science. Kids? Are you listening?