The flow of creativity is an enigma to me. Why is it that some days I have lots of ideas for blogging, and the words just come, spilling out from my fingers onto the screen almost too fast to type, and other times I'll start a post and it just doesn't work and I end up shelving it and eventually just deleting it because it's BORING, even to me. Sometimes I just don't have the energy to spin the mundane events of my life into something funny or at least interesting. Why is that?
Obviously life events provide fodder for blogging. And I'm having "stuff" happen. But I just don't feel like blogging about it. I have no idea why.
I'm sure this too shall pass. Never fear, my dear friends... I'll remember how to think and write again soon. In the meantime, why don't you help me out by telling me what you want to hear about? Except for the cockamamie waxing idea a few people jumped on last week. I am so not doing that.
How egotistical is that - my assumption that anyone wants to know what I'm thinking or what's happening to me? Sure sure - that will unleash a compliment frenzy which is NOT why I said it. I'm just typing randomly and letting everything I think come right out. Okay, not everything; if I did that you'd all be so shocked that you'd never come back. Or maybe you would, kind of like how you can't stop staring at the carnage of a burning vehicle on the side of the road. It's disturbing, but riveting. And you'd tell all your friends -- "hey you've just got to go see this blog. The woman is seriously disturbed, but it'll make you feel good about yourself!"
I'm not even going to go back and proofread this post before I publish. Will I regret it? Will I humiliate myself beyond repair when everyone finds out that I actually do not compost coherent sentences off the top of my head and that when I drop the over-educated facade that in reality I think and speak in run-on fragments with abominable grammar even if I do know how to spell big words? No matter. Maybe you'll even like me better, right? Kind of like when you idolize some person who is so put together and intimidating and then drop in for an unannounced visit to find that they're a terrible housekeeper? Yeah - that would be me. I'm like a duck paddling furiously beneath the surface of the water, but all you see is the calm composed me floating along serenely. I think moast people are like that, really. Or maybe I'm the only one, and now you all know my pathetic secret. Whatever it is. If you figure it out, will you please let me know?
So - I don't want to see any comments about how wonderful you think I am because you felt alarmed reading this post and wonder if maybe I'm feeling down and need a boost or a pep talk, because that's not it at all. I feel great! I'm HAPPY! Really! I just have nothing to blog about -- so if you want to comment, do me a favor and feed me some ideas. The alternative, of course, is to say nothing, and then I'll know for sure that I've shocked you all beyond words.