Some friends have commented, in other forums, of the inanity and downright narcissism of the status update “FML.” (For those of you who don’t speak internet acronym, F— My Life. I had to look up the definition myself the first time I encountered it.)
Generally these posts remark upon trivial annoyances, as in “The internet is down, FML” or “Stopped for every red light on the way to work, FML.”
Rarely is true human pathos addressed: Third miscarriage, FML. Cancer metastasized, FML.
Temperamentally, I’m not prone to gaudy emotionalism or crass expressions, so I was—not opposed—but generally disinterested in the phrase, although I do my own share of complaining. (I favor oblique references to Judith Viorst’s classic children’s book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.)
For the first time, today qualified as an FML morning:
A friend’s mother’s funeral on Saturday, which I attended, in the ice storm, with my low-grade fever; a visit with same friend on Sunday; and a phone call from another friend Sunday night informing us of the passing of this second friend’s cousin.
Death never comes at a convenient time.
I was drained. I was exhausted. A probably still a little bit sick.
Tonight, the first class of the Spring semester starts. I haven’t purchased my textbooks. I had anxiety dream about the class, Confessional Poetry: instead of a one-night-a-week 3-hour graduate class (reality), I dreamed I had an undergraduate-style Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule where Friday was an all day (10 hour!) Poetry Lab, akin to a Science Lab or Language Lab. (In dream logic, the fact that I work full-time was not a concern; the overwhelming incomprehension of an all-day Poetry Lab was stupefying.)
I had a 12 noon meeting with my boss. We have staffing problems, budget challenges. I hit ‘snooze’ twice, went back to bed, was late for work.
For the first time, I considered my own FML status update. I would comment, ironically, about my own whining.
When I came up with a better alternative:
Bless My Life.
Think about it. Deadline tomorrow: bless my life. Income Tax payment owed, bless my life.
All together, say it with me: “bless my life.”
(Trademark on this phrase will be forthcoming so I may profit on all sorts of lurid bracelets, trinkets, and bumper stickers. BML!)