Hello, my name is Monte R. Anderson and I’m a blogger. I’ve been blog-free now for six months. I would’ve continued in my downward spiral if it hadn’t been for an intervention by my family and close friends. I owe them my life. I came home one day and was greeted at the door by wife. She took both my hands in hers and led me into the living room. There stood my two best friends, my two children, my brother and sister.
“Monte, sit down here,” my wife said. Then she leaned on the arms of the chair until her face was inches from mine. “First, we want you to know that we all love you.” Everyone nodded in agreement or echoed, “We love you.”
I think I said something profound like, “Sup?”
My best friend, Mike, stepped forward and said, “Bro, this is an intervention. We know what you’ve been doing. We all know. It has got to stop. You have got to stop now.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to play innocent.
My other friend, Pat, said. “You’ve been blogging, bro. We know. We’ve watched you destroy your life.”
“So, I’ve been blogging. What’s wrong with that?”
My wife raised her voice. “You’re a writer not a blogger. You are supposed to be writing the great American novel, not wasting your time on a blog.”
“We found your novel manuscript on your computer.” Pat held up some paper.
“There you go. I have been writing.”
Pat laughed. “It’s only four pages.” He peeled off the pages one by one and threw them on the floor. “The cover which is blank except for the title. Apparently, the working title is “To Be Determined”. Seriously? Then the title page with your name, a table of contents with just chapter numbers and the acknowledge page where you thanked your family for their support. That’s not a novel, Monte.”
“So, I blog a little bit. What’s the harm in that?”
My wife was back in my face. “A little bit! I didn’t mind when you blogged once or even twice a week, but lately, you’ve been at it every day; sometimes twice a day. You’re destroying our family. You’re killing yourself.”
“WTF?”
“Look at yourself, Monte,” Mike said. “When is the last time you shaved, or took a shower?” I shrugged my shoulders. Mike continued, “You’ve been wearing those same clothes for two weeks now. You’re eating pop tarts for every meal. Do you even know how much coffee you drink?”
“I need a little caffeine now and then,” I answered.
Mike held up eight K-cups. “Try eight today.”
Pat held up four energy drink cans. “Not to mention these energy drinks we found in your trash today.”
I just hung my head. My secret was out. I felt so ashamed.
My young son stepped forward. “Dad, you haven’t gone to one of my games this season. You said you’d watch me play.”
“Okay, okay, son. I’ll come to your next soccer game.”
Tears formed in my son’s eyes. “That was last season. I’m playing basketball now.” He turned and ran away.
It was now my daughter’s turn. “Dad, I need you. I need you to come to my high school graduation and my college graduation. I need you walk me down the aisle when I marry.”
It was my turn to cry. “Baby, I’m planning to do that.”
She shook her head. “No, you won’t,” she shouted. “You’ll stay home to write your stupid blog.”
The room was quiet for a moment before I broke the silence. “I’m truly sorry. I didn’t realize. You’re right. You’re all right. I need help.”
My wife was back holding my hands. “It’s not too late. We’re here to help you.”
“What should I do,” I asked.
My wife straightened up. “First… stop blogging.”
You mean cold turkey? Just like that?”
“We’ll help,” Mike said. “We’ve already hidden your computer.”
“But my followers.”
“They’ll understand,” said Mike.
Pat handed me a brochure. “We’ve enrolled you in a rehab program. The first week you must live on site and the second week you live in a halfway house with other recovering bloggers. After that there’s BA – Bloggers Anonymous. They meet every week.”
I completed the rehab program and attended the BA meetings. I was assigned a sponsor. He was an older blogger. He looked like a zombie – lifeless eyes and slow movements. Now, months later, I do feel better. I’m happy. My family’s happy. I felt so good about my experience that I decide to share it with you followers on this secret blog.
THE END
“Monte, sit down here,” my wife said. Then she leaned on the arms of the chair until her face was inches from mine. “First, we want you to know that we all love you.” Everyone nodded in agreement or echoed, “We love you.”
I think I said something profound like, “Sup?”
My best friend, Mike, stepped forward and said, “Bro, this is an intervention. We know what you’ve been doing. We all know. It has got to stop. You have got to stop now.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to play innocent.
My other friend, Pat, said. “You’ve been blogging, bro. We know. We’ve watched you destroy your life.”
“So, I’ve been blogging. What’s wrong with that?”
My wife raised her voice. “You’re a writer not a blogger. You are supposed to be writing the great American novel, not wasting your time on a blog.”
“We found your novel manuscript on your computer.” Pat held up some paper.
“There you go. I have been writing.”
Pat laughed. “It’s only four pages.” He peeled off the pages one by one and threw them on the floor. “The cover which is blank except for the title. Apparently, the working title is “To Be Determined”. Seriously? Then the title page with your name, a table of contents with just chapter numbers and the acknowledge page where you thanked your family for their support. That’s not a novel, Monte.”
“So, I blog a little bit. What’s the harm in that?”
My wife was back in my face. “A little bit! I didn’t mind when you blogged once or even twice a week, but lately, you’ve been at it every day; sometimes twice a day. You’re destroying our family. You’re killing yourself.”
“WTF?”
“Look at yourself, Monte,” Mike said. “When is the last time you shaved, or took a shower?” I shrugged my shoulders. Mike continued, “You’ve been wearing those same clothes for two weeks now. You’re eating pop tarts for every meal. Do you even know how much coffee you drink?”
“I need a little caffeine now and then,” I answered.
Mike held up eight K-cups. “Try eight today.”
Pat held up four energy drink cans. “Not to mention these energy drinks we found in your trash today.”
I just hung my head. My secret was out. I felt so ashamed.
My young son stepped forward. “Dad, you haven’t gone to one of my games this season. You said you’d watch me play.”
“Okay, okay, son. I’ll come to your next soccer game.”
Tears formed in my son’s eyes. “That was last season. I’m playing basketball now.” He turned and ran away.
It was now my daughter’s turn. “Dad, I need you. I need you to come to my high school graduation and my college graduation. I need you walk me down the aisle when I marry.”
It was my turn to cry. “Baby, I’m planning to do that.”
She shook her head. “No, you won’t,” she shouted. “You’ll stay home to write your stupid blog.”
The room was quiet for a moment before I broke the silence. “I’m truly sorry. I didn’t realize. You’re right. You’re all right. I need help.”
My wife was back holding my hands. “It’s not too late. We’re here to help you.”
“What should I do,” I asked.
My wife straightened up. “First… stop blogging.”
You mean cold turkey? Just like that?”
“We’ll help,” Mike said. “We’ve already hidden your computer.”
“But my followers.”
“They’ll understand,” said Mike.
Pat handed me a brochure. “We’ve enrolled you in a rehab program. The first week you must live on site and the second week you live in a halfway house with other recovering bloggers. After that there’s BA – Bloggers Anonymous. They meet every week.”
I completed the rehab program and attended the BA meetings. I was assigned a sponsor. He was an older blogger. He looked like a zombie – lifeless eyes and slow movements. Now, months later, I do feel better. I’m happy. My family’s happy. I felt so good about my experience that I decide to share it with you followers on this secret blog.
THE END
RSS Feed
