Don’t take it personally, but I’m reusing a photo from two days ago to start off this blog post.
Don’t take it personally, but I’ve personally blogged about personalization — the cognitive distortion of taking things too personally — several times before (including here, here, and here).
Yesterday, my niece Laura
(on the left, next to her daughter Victoria) told me that people might take it personally when I recently blogged about a get-together at my place next weekend, because I hadn’t invited them. I told Laura, “Don’t take it personally. That’s a gathering for a professional organization of group therapists.”
I hope Laura and Victoria don’t take it personally that I didn’t take a better picture of them yesterday.
Don’t take it personally that I personally took all these photos yesterday and you’re not in any of them.
Actually, don’t take it personally that I said you weren’t in any of those photos and you are, because you’re my ex-sister-in-law Deborah (who appears in several portraits above and who designed and built another beautiful home for sale), Cher, Audrey who works at Pet Life, or Harley the cat.
Don’t take it personally that I have to rush and finish this post before I go to work.
Don’t take it personally that I’m using Michael Brecker’s tune “Nothing Personal” again in this blog.
Please take it personally that I’m thanking everybody who helps me create these blog posts and — of course! — YOU.
This is what I’m having for lunch on the 7th anniversary of my first contact with Michael, which was a message about how we both disliked beets.
Here’s the first message I sent to my boyfriend Michael seven years ago after I saw his OkCupid profile, which was hilarious and adorable and quirky and mentioned his dislike of beets.
I also hate beets. You actually didn’t use the word “hate.” You were much more diplomatic.
Michael didn’t miss a beat and wrote back:
Well, you have to be diplomatic in public forums. I mean, you never know who’ll have a disturbing passion for beets or something and send you psychotic messages for the next seven months. Between you and me, I detest beets.
Since then, we’ve grown fonder of beets and of each other.
Let’s celebrate our anniversary to the beat of some music and photos!
I’m looking forward to many more beets, beats, delicious meals, sunrises, and sunsets in the future.
Thanks to Michael and everyone else who contributed to every beat and beet of this post and thanks to YOU — of course! — for staying to celebrate our anniversary.
No, I’m not. Medical people, when they’ve seen pictures of my heart, have looked at my fingers and toes expecting them to be blue (because of the strange route my blood takes), but I’m always pink (unless I’m outside too long in the !!&#@!!#@!! New England cold).
Am I blue, in any way, this morning?
I shall check in with myself — internally and externally — in this moment.
I have discovered two ways in which I am blue, right now.
Before I reveal those, will it make you blue if my thoughts turn to blues in the recent past?
I saw these blues last night, while Grammys for blues, rock, R & B, and other kinds of music were being awarded in Los Angeles, California.*
Here’s a link to the complete list of all the (probably-not-blue) winners of Grammy awards this year. It always makes me a little blue that more musical genres — like bluegrass — aren’t included in the Grammy awards TV show. However, it makes me the opposite of blue (whatever color that would be) to see, this morning, that some of my favorite entertainers won Grammys this year, including: