28 Jun Chapter 26
The questions of why preoccupied me some days more before they faded away like a runner in a marathon who passed before me, soon disappearing into the distance, my focus on the conversations, posts, debates now hurtling by. The incongruity in shaving, like the baldness under my terry turban, wasn’t bothersome unless I let it be. And I wouldn’t let it. I didn’t want to engage in anything that brought blog life into my marriage and home life. Amidst that duality, a bizarre winter of normal life began to emerge, even though my nights were spent in a virtual reality on the blogosphere. In the world of the Vizels, we woke often to the sound of men shoveling our snow before we even had a chance to part the blinds and see the flurries. I took my Seasonique; we put on boots, Yossef Mendel drove me and Shloimele to Garfield, and the little blabbermouth went to daycare, I to work. After our workdays, I photo bombed one million pictures Yossef Mendel took of Shloimele as he learned to suck noodles in by twirling fingers in his ears, a magic trick of sorts, and make innocent remarks on things like the computer, which we decided to call “the picture” for fear he’d mention something to one of his one-year-old co-conspirators and give us away. Shloimele would point at Big Bird on the screen and scream “pich-ah,” and we would snort in our laughter. The world of Shpitzle inside the picture was much more erratic. I was hyperventilating every time I logged in, fearful of what the next attack would be. Readers disliked the piece on birth control, and they said the one on rabbis was corny. They tore me down more vehemently. One moment they called me brilliant, the next they derided me for being naive, triumphed over the discovery of a spelling mistake. I felt silly one moment, but then I was nominated for a Jewish Blogmeister award. I didn’t win any categories, but the obsessive excitement only intensified my desire to continue.