Quitting Before I Get Started...

This all began with the greatest of intentions...family and friends lured into liking my writing so much that I was given the "gift" of a blog.  Very complimentary but, like a sweater I have no intention of ever pulling over my head, not likely to be used.  So, for my 43rd birthday this January, my daughter Savannah presented me with my own domain name.  "Just what I always wanted," I said, already plotting how long I could put this off.  My eager fan base of two kept pestering me regarding the latest updates of my "blog."  By April, I knew I couldn't put it off any longer and with a great deal of technical support, managed to successfully post a picture of my dachshund Chloe.  "There," I thought with smug satisfaction, "that should fend them off for awhile."  Nope.  The haranguing intensified.  Making an appointment with my technical support team (aka Amy White, world's best school librarian), we began the maddening process of getting my blog up and running.  My job was to sit next to Mrs. White and tell her how pretty she is.  Mrs. White's job was to do all the work and make comforting sounds each time I began to sob, curl up in the fetal position or shout, "Just pull the plug!  Shut 'er down!"  We discovered that a web designer can make, on the conservative side, $150 an hour and that it typically takes 12-20 hours to build a website.  "Shut 'er down," I screamed.  "Shhhhhh," comforted my librarian.  Research (on Mrs. White's part...I was busy cramming a giant bag of Lays Salt & Vinegar chips in my mouth) revealed that we could create our own blog for free.  Fantastic.  Amy White went right to work  I opened up a package of Nabisco Pinwheel cookies.  The first step, naturally, was to get a picture of Chlo up immediately.  That done, I was ready to go home but Amy White felt that perhaps we could surpass our original effort.  She quickly added several of my newspaper articles while I sucked down the last bit of the day's Pepsi.  "Can we be done now," I begged, exhausted.  Recognizing that I had hit my emotional wall, Mrs. White graciously relented, knowing that I had worked hard creating an on-line "masterpiece."  "How can I repay you," I asked my friend, thinking that a $5 gift card might not quite reflect her creative technical efforts and extraordinary patience level.  A fern is a lovely symbol of gratitude.  Instead, my non-materialistic friend made a simple request, asking me to be her work-out buddy for a bit.  Ugh.  This blog may be the worst idea EVER.