Today I commented on a recent blog entry posted by a new friend. The post was about how everyone thinks it's easy to write. A major fallacy, I agree. My comment was about how it's two-fold in that we not only have to be adept at the craft of writing to be effective but we also have to have something to say. While I stand by my comment, it certainly got my head gnawing on the grizzle of that statement. Having something to say. I talk plenty. And I can write plenty too. But what do I actually have to say?
This past year, most of my posts have been focused on the change in my view of how I found sustainable happiness (my passion drummer). Most people that aren't following a passion drummer, which is pretty much every person I know except for Jason and Roger, really don't "get" my posts, even after repeated explanation. And Jason and Roger read it and go, "duh, of course!" So it's been more an effort toward my own self-exploration and I'm not entirely certain that needed to go public. But who's counting the cows after they're already out of the barn.
Those that know me understand that I'm not one for small talk. I am not a girly girl with lots of flowery language and attempts to make others think I'm sweet and charming and likeable. I'm not sweet or charming or even particularly likeable most of the time. I am not the flibbertigibbet type either. There hasn't been much whimsy in my life. I am strong, logical, and just a tad bit driven. (Yes, that was a joke!) And I'm certainly not particularly funny; although, I love to surround myself with people that are by nature funny because I pick some of it up by osmosis, or at least I like to think that. Anyone that's met me remembers my (shall we say distinctive?) laugh.
I also don't feel that I have a particularly sharp eye in catching the engaging moments of my day. The only topic that comes to mind today that had me off on a tangent was while unloading the dishwasher (now isn't that engaging). I used to have a flatware service for 14. I now have 9 teaspoons, 11 tablespoons, 13 knives, 8 large forks, and 10 salad forks. I should be upset since those buggers cost me $75 for each 5-piece service, but it serves me right (really doesn't it?) using the good silverware for everyday. So how on earth did I lose my utensils? Did a fork get thrown out in a pizza box? Did a spoon on a paper plate hit the trash-bin without notice? Did a guest inadvertently take home their dish-to-pass with my tablespoon stowed inside? Did a nurse turn the garbage disposal on with a fork down the drain and chuck it before I saw it? Did a knife slide down between the cushions of the recliner, never to be seen of again? Or are there such things as utensils gremlins? Or perhaps flatware fairies? I don't think so. I'll never know. But these are the types of mundane happenings in my world. Not much to say.
Most of my time is spent at work, in a class, reading, or creating something. I don't sit around and if I do sit, I'm most certainly making something while I watch tv or listen to an audiobook. Forever the multitasker, that's me. But I honestly think I exhaust people talking about my daily activities. Or at the very least alienate myself because others feel that they don't measure up some how. Like my class addiction is some sort of thing to aspire to!? Seriously? I don't know many others with 17 classes scheduled for the month of October, plus new class designs to complete, an old job to quit, a new job to start, and a bunch of other crap on my to-do list. And I don't know anyone that would actually choose that for themselves except for me. But doesn't that just mean others should think me crazy instead of amazing? I do. I'm okay with being a bit odd though. But it isn't something I find particularly interesting to talk about.
My sorted past is fairly interesting; however, I can't much write about it without fear of a libel suit. So not much to say there.
So what do I have to say, I ask? Can you hear the crickets? Me too.