Flotsam and Jetsam

I dreamt I shaved my head last night. I was bald as a cue ball and looking ever so glamorous and rockstar like. This morning, I realized that even though the idea is tempting, since I'm shedding out the equivalent of two full heads of hair each day, I'm not sure the Sinead O'Conner look is for me. I've gone radical before but shaving my head might actually give people the proof that I've gone over the edge.

Not that going over the edge is a bad thing. I think I actually fell off of it about 2 weeks ago. I was in the grocery store with all four of the tribe when I just decided to leap. I saw a gleam of light in the gise of a free give-away over by the nappies and figured if I could just jump over the display of baby soaps and hide amongst the wipes, I'd be good to go. Unfortunately, I only cleared the bottom part of the display and was soon trounced upon by three people who looked exactly like Hubster. Not to mention being pummeled by store security as well. But I got my free trial pack of dry toast crackers all the same. Go Dig!

Since that little episode, I've been trying to reassure myself that going over the edge is really a lot more common than most people think. And I have found proof of this. It's called "Other People's Blogs."

There are some really wacked out people out there. More wacked than I am and more creative in dealing with the insanities of life. For example, one blogger I found is gearing up for what seems to be a yearly festival of critters created from vegetables and baked goods. She also talks a lot about drinking gin so I think I may have found a soul mate but since I don't speak Belgian, I'm not sure yet.

There are other blogs that try to give a nice spin on things, some that try and make us stay-at-home types feel less alone, blogs that rip into politics and policy with angry teeth and foaming mouths, blogs that say a multitude of things with no words, and then there are the blogs of those who've upped sticks and left town without really knowing why.

With all these people writing about their lives, it's as though blogs are those messages in bottles that The Police sang about years ago:

Walked out this morning,
don't believe what I saw
Hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore
Seems I'm not alone at being alone
Hundred billion castaways, looking for a home

All in all, reading other people's words have made me appreciate my own. My story is not unique. There are other expats in France, there are other Anglo/American families living in strange places, other stay-at-home moms that write better than I do, and *gasp* even other people with nutty sled dogs like our own.

But when I put my message, covered with dog fur and peanut butter, into an empty bottle of Badoulin and cast out there, I'm seeing it floating over the seas and into the hands of those who need to know that this crazy Birth Control Bed & Breakfast is a safe shore. Yes, I've gone over the edge, but I'm not alone and all the other jumpers are welcome here.

Writing about this life as I live it makes it all easier to laugh at. Without having to shave my head.