The diagnosis is anemia.
Iron poor blog; a literary Geritol commercial.
Permit me to explain: those who follow me with any regularity (and I thank you both), know that I haven’t been a very dutiful blogger as of late. The only excuse I can offer you is that I don’t have one. Does that make sense? Well, in my swirling gray matter, it does.
The reality is sometimes, I just don’t feel the desire to write. I feel awfully uninspired these days; even listless. My attitude toward this blog cavalier. In previous years, I could stand in line at the check out counter at Kroger’s and look down and see a woman’s talon like toes and could be motivated to go off in about five different editorial directions. I couldn’t wait to get home and blog all about it. Today, I can look at this woman’s toes and think, “Bitch needs a pedicure” and nothing more.
Compounding the problem is the fact that I’m in a relationship which has yet to be completely defined. Like water, it’ll seek its own level I’m sure, but I’m in the throes of the interim–the here and now. Not at point A…not at C. I’m at B–that odd and awkward ” no man’s land”. I find that I think a lot about this man and what we have, but those thoughts for whatever reason, don’t make the synapse between brain and fingers. Nothing can be translated on to the screen. It’s like there’s a barrier or an obstruction of some sort. One would think that a relationship would be enough for me to bloviate upon ad nauseam, but it’s something I want to keep obscure. I know…odd, right? Especially since I’ve complained endlessly about my relationship woes and here I am in one and I have no desire to discuss it.
Mien Gott, perhaps I have finally appropriated boundaries.
Guess so, but it’s more than that. Trying to define the undefinable has taken up a lot of my time lately and yes, it’s taken me away from writing. Ironic isn’t it, that my reason for blogging is now one of the reasons why I don’t?
I addition to that, I’m working again in a job that is demanding, but in a far different way. I work alone for the most part and I rather like the solitude. I get a lot done and that’s good, but in those moments when the phone doesn’t ring, when there’s no deadline to meet and no broadcast fire to put out, I get the chance to sit and breathe and remember the peace that exists in a certain silence . Sometimes at work, the silence is deafening. At other times, it’s not loud enough. I have learned that silence isn’t worth a damn UNLESS it has volume control
I don’t write much about work either, do I?
So then what’s the deal here? If I’m not pissing and moaning about love and the lack thereof or my sad state of employment and the lack thereof, then what the hell am I doing?
I suppose I’m changing.
In fact, I just looked in the mirror and realized that my little girl is growing up. By that I mean my Jungian inner child of the archetypal variety. I’d have a going away party for her or at least a Sweet 16 party or a quinceañera, but I’m not inspired to that either.
It’s too bad I’m so lethargic. If I had more creative stamina I could also write assloads about this divine child and all those developmental issues she continues to work through.
I could write about Keith Olbermann’s sudden departure from MSNBC (or Obama’s Campaign Headquarters, as we “righties” call it). He is, I think, completely certifiable and should be placed in protective custody with the other lunatics of his ilk and yes, I mean O’Reilly and that Glen Beck person who God help me, irritates me more than a jagged suppository would. They are walking one-act plays each stuck in their third acts. I loathe the self-righteous whether legit or contrived and trust me, these men are those men. That said, Glen Beck personifies everything that’s wrong with the Republican Party. Olbermann has almost single-handedly tainted and sullied the word “liberal”. Both induce bile.
Then again, I could also write about the Sisters Kendrick and how we as women, would love to be swept away by the proverbial knight in shining armor. My we are needy broads. And so easily swayed by words. I love you and I want to take care of you are like kryptonite to us. Tell us these things and we become slack kneed; unable to take a stand. We have this inexplicable need to be saved…to be rescued. We don’t want lovers; we seek first responders.
Yes, I could write about all those things but I can’t. I won’t. I don’t want to.
In closing, a former classmate of mine contacted me recently and conveyed two things to me: one made me smile; the other made me sad. He told me he has to read my blog with a thesaurus. I smiled then quickly winced: am I pretentious? Then he asked me what what’s happened in my life that’s made me so sad? He moved away in Junior High but said he only remembers that full of life, fun-loving, sweet kid he knew in seventh grade.
What???? Where’s cute in the stream of adjectives????
Ah Tommy, my life has been fraught with good and bad just like everyone else. My problems are no different. It’s just that God gave me Clintonian brass ones and the audacity to think someone would want to read about mine.
And lately, that really isn’t happening. My readership, while still okay, has faltered some. Maybe that’s due in part to the fact I’m not blogging as much and I’m not blogging as much because I’ve got other things to contend with; things that require my attention. Or has my readership declined along with my blogging frequency because my readers, like me, are bored? Disenchanted with my self loathing and while still quite adroit and relevant, my bombast, too? Have I become the very yawn fest I so detest??
Gee, I don’t know and frankly, I’m just not inspired enough to care. I’ve got a relationship to define.
Where’s Noah Webster when you need him?