It has been almost two months since I wrote my last blog post. In all honestly, I’m knee deep in napping, reading books I’ve always wanted to read and watching all kinds of TV shows that this blog, and my writing in general, has taken a backseat to those more seemingly important tasks. In one of my last posts I stated that I was going to attempt to write every day for the month of August. Yet here it is October and none of that happened. Hell, I didn’t even make it to the fifth day. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Exactly. I had a client mention to me that I often post things I’m going to do on my blog but I have very little follow through. This observation got me wondering…
Every once in awhile I’ll post on Facebook “I’m a weirdo” and it gets about 5 likes in comparison to the 150 likes I get for a check-in at the movie theater with my husband. A few weeks ago, someone sent me a message and asked me why I always identify myself as a weirdo. “You are successful, handsome and you really have your shit together. Why in the world would you want everyone to think you’re a weirdo and what does that even mean?” I thought it was an interesting question so I looked up the definition of weirdo and found this: a person whose dress or behavior seems strange or eccentric. Hmmm…I don’t know. I guess it all started with Janis Joplin.
As I was sitting in front of my computer tonight, waiting for Alex’s family to come over for dinner, I was thinking about how much my mom loved having people over on Sunday nights. She would invite a few people over and we would all sit around the dining room table and eat chili and raw apple muffins or chicken curry with homemade garlic bread. Later, after the other guests would leave, my mom and I would sit in front of the fire and drink coffee while talking about a range of topics from her desire to have Hilary Clinton as president to the best Woody Allen film to random memories of her being a Pi Phi. The night would drift on as we would play Bob Dylan and Neil Young records, smoke cigarettes and the stories would turn funnier until we would both be rolling in laughter. Finally, it would be time for me to go home. She always asked me to stay overnight, but I always refused, desiring to be in my own bed. Now Alex and I live in my mother’s home and I sleep here every night.
First of all, let me say that I adore fanboys and fangirls everywhere, probably because I am one. I loved that MTV hosted the first ever mtvu Fandom Awards this week honoring the best in all of fandom!
When I was in college I was obsessed with this Southern writer named Jill McCorkle who wrote these amazing books like Ferris Beach, The Cheer Leader and July 7th. In one of my creative writing classes, I was given an assignment to write to an author whose work I admired and ask them for advice on becoming a writer. I went home that night and typed out a letter to Ms. McCorkle, explaining how I loved her work and was an avid fan of everything she had written. I told her that I was obsessed with her characters and asked her questions about where she got certain ideas, like why did she make Misty a baton twirler. I licked the stamp and sent it off to her publisher in North Carolina, never expecting a response.
Today on Facebook, I asked for suggestions about topics I should write about on my blog. Somebody suggested I write about a crush I had in high school, which will be my next post. Tonight, I went down in our basement and started rummaging through all of my plastic containers holding remnants of my past, in search of my pictures from high school. I had thought that during a drunken rage years ago, I had set fire to all of my journals, notes and high school memories…but I had not. What I found truly amazed me.