Stuffed bunny (no, it's not a recipe) in Normal entries

I have an excuse for why I haven’t been writing here this week; I’ve been joining the rabble on facebook. I didn’t mean to imply it was a good excuse or a just excuse or one I’m proud of. Amidst all the ranting, raving and pictures of puppies something a bit unusual happened. Someone who knew me as an infant found me on facebook. One of my recent friends is this woman who I went through every grade in public school with except kindergarten and senior year. I mean I didn’t go to kindergarten, she might have either, and I didn’t go to senior year, she might not have either.

So I became facebook friends with her and after a few What’ve you been up to’s we didn’t say much to one another, mostly because I spend a lot of time, an inordinate amount of time, not on facebook. All the ranting and raving since the 20th of January reminded me of the old days of OD so I joined in and me and my public school pal wound up in one anothers feed.

This led to a very timid FB messenger message from a midwife in Bhangladesh asking me if I lived in East Lansing when I was very young. Long story short, our parents had been friends. She had been, well, still is I reckon, two years older and though we know all the same people we don’t really remember one another. She knew my public school buddy because she went to the youth ministry of my public school buddies father. So did my brother. It was the 1960’s and Hippie Jesus is love style ministries were very popular. I think that’s no longer the case but I hardly have a finger on the pulse of actual trends in religion. If you go solely by facebook Christianity is the fork the second amendment uses to eat liberals. I’m pretty sure that’s not entirely true. In my personal experience conservatives and liberals run neck and neck with atheism and theism, so, despite the vocal fundamentalist rants, there has to be churchs that accept liberals. Hell, there might even be some that make you check your partisanship at the door.

So this midwife in Bangladesh had named her stuffed rabbit after me. I would have been a new born at the time. It’s surprising how much we’ve had to talk about and, you know, the time difference. I don’t know why but it’s kind of heart-warming. Perhaps it’s so because of the sea of vitriol and bile scorching the shores of that age’d social network.

I often don’t read the shit I write on journaling sites, not for at least a few months if ever. No offense but it’s hardly a surprise. 1) I actually do know how to edit but I don’t on journaling sites. 2) I’ve typed several times that I don’t read this stuff, I’d rather read yours and I’ve been lazy doing that. Shit, got interrupted by GF text forgot where I was going. Huh, I don’t know; on facebook I do make sure I don’t leave out words, though on a phone all sorts of damn-you-auto-correct stuff slips by me. That’s a point but I don’t think it’s the one I was shooting for. There is so much reposting of the same stuff I’ve gotten weary. I was embarrassed that I found myself “sharing” memes. With all due humility I may not be as witty or clever as I think I am, but I do strive to be original. It’s embarrassing to share memes. Ok, political memes. When I run across a particularly cute or brave or noble picture of a pitbull … actually, no, only lately. Usually I’ll check in to see what my loved ones are doing and play bejeweled. Even there I have my loved ones phone numbers.

Shit, I had a plan when I started …