To the friend who asked me to install some kind of comment tracking mechanism on this here blog…do you know me at all? These interwebs are a little scary for me. We’re really holding on by a thread here. Sweetie, this is something we’re going to have to do together. Or you’ll have to call and talk me through it.

To the friend who emailed, “I didn’t get a text from you yesterday. I just checked again.” Do you know me at all? I don’t even have what you kids like to call “the unlimited texting” because I’m so challenged at it. Handsome, it’s really Russian roulette with me and the texting. Sometimes there’s a bullet in the chamber, sometimes I accidentally hit cancel.

[Aside to the commenter who has been relentlessly and annonymously criticizing my rare lapses in political correctness: I AM going to delete your Russian roulette rant. Do you know me at all?]

To my composition director who wrote sarcastically “no, just close your eyes and wish really hard, and a wizard will drop you a new book from the sky.” Sir, do you know me at all? Any mention of a wizard should occur only in communications which are rooted in love and goodness. Or are you a death eater?

To my husband with the lime chips, who when asked about the Tequila salsa said, “I wasn’t going to open it.” My beloved, do you know me at all? You know that I’m lusty in the ways of the food and the flesh. Did you honestly think that I was going to consume lime chips without Tequila salsa when the aforementioned salsa was already in the house? Aren’t you the same person who made a special trip to Panera for my turkey artichoke panini when the rest of the family was eating Chinese?

To my darling Mira who said, “It’s okay mommy, you really don’t have to make a landform tracing for me to study.” Do you know me at all? Baby girl, anything that’s worth doing is worth doing right and in an aesthetically pleasing way. Now get mommy some tracing paper and the colored pencils.

To my colleague who asked how I was coming along on my syllabus. Friend, I said that I was procrastinating, and I am, but I’ll have it done by tomorrow. Do you know me at all? This is how I define procrastination. A week ahead of time. I cannot function in a disorganized world.

For everyone who just panicked, even a little bit, at that last statement. Do you know me at all? Your disorganization doesn’t concern me, unless it overlaps my obsessive need to organize. However, rest assured that I’ve spent the last 15 years working out all kinds of coping mechanisms. If not, you can always tell me to rein it in. I know myself…at least a little.