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Rachael did in fact write a post for her day, Friday, but never posted it.
Which, given her subject, is ironic.

Dear Rachael,
This is your brainchild. Get your ass in gear. Stop moping.


Rachael's post:

All Americans are brought up with delusions, given to us by our parents, our teachers, and certainly the media. I am no exception to this rule. To this day I believe that if I went in to politics, I would be a success, and would inevitably be swept quickly upwards to the presidency, on a platform of common sense, environmentalism, and educational and family law-related reform. Doubtlessly I would start small, working my way up from the PTA to the school board, to a sweeping and near unanimous vote for mayor of whatever city I have chosen to make my home. After one stellar term in office, I will become governor, and breeze my way as some sort of absurd middle-aged prodigy into the White House, where I will be beloved by all, no matter their political persuasion.

Either that, or my very first screenplay will win a Golden Globe, and an Oscar. Or two.

I harbor these delusions in a truly American fashion. My upbringing has drilled into me the idea that success is inevitable, unavoidable, and intended for me in specific. I am a precious snowflake, different from every other snowflake, and destined to become the crowning snowflake on the misshapen snowman that is American history. With such lofty ideals as these, it is no wonder that I am repeatedly deluded into thinking that I am interesting enough to self-publish.

I read somewhere that Facebook is the ultimate form of propaganda. On Facebook, we put the things that make us the most attractive, and leave out the crap we're ashamed of. For instance, in my “favorite books” section, I have “Underworld,” by Don DeLilo, an impressive tome several thousand pages thick which makes me look much smarter than I really am. I have neglected to include some of the books that really defined my world view when I was a kid, the books that I truly obsessed over, namely the “Redwall” series, and these books about this girl who becomes a knight in some cracked out fantasy land by Tamara Pierce. (Danielle's Note: OH MY GOD THE LIONESS SERIES I LOVE THOSE BOOKS I OWN THEM ALL. Ahem. Carry on.) I fucking loved those books, let me tell you, but there are no fantasy novels on my Facebook page. Except “Harry Potter.” That shit rules.

My Facebook page is similarly devoid of any reference to the myriad blogs I've attempted to maintain over the course of my life. Pages full of teen angst, near illiterate observations on the world, and ludicrous photo montages found around the internet. If one were to read the first lines of the vast majority of my blog posts, one would assume (rightly so) that one were reading the musings of a near-bipolar self-absorbed idiot whose moods fluctuate like the movement of the earth's crust. Every mood of mine is documented in a manner commensurate with the gravity, permanence, and significance of said mood. A chipmunk running into my on-campus apartment? HAPPYHAPPYHAPPY. A tick on my leg? OHMYGODYOUGUYSTHISISTHEWORSTDAYOFMYLIFE. Only occasionally do I have anything at all of interest to say, the rest of the time is very American self-delusion that the minutiae of my life is interesting at all.

Another facet of my previous blogs is their eventual petering out. My most recent blog, rachaelgoingmormon.blogspot.com was abandoned mere months after I began it, with the best of intentions, and even the most direction. And I still crashed and burned.

All this begs the question: why on God's green earth would I assume that anything I have to say this time is of interest, or will be anything other than semi-literary near masturbation?

This is a bad idea isn't it....