I “should” blog. “Do it!” I was urged. I’m not entirely certain what these kindhearted individuals expected from me. I already Tweet so much, a certain Scotsman decided he needed to unfollow me. I was “clogging” his feed. Really? “Clogging”? I felt like a lump of hair wedged in a bathroom sink. For days after that, I tried to keep quiet. Really I did. But what can I say? It was the 2009 Major League Baseball playoffs. My New York Yankees were wiping the floor with every contender. Was I supposed to keep that to myself? I had fellow Yankees fans counting on my rants, my diatribes, my ecstasies. I couldn’t let them down. Clog or no clog. And so I continued.
I’m told blogging helps with writing. If it does, it takes me away from the two manuscripts I’ve started that sit like dead weights, bobbing up and down on my hard drive like buoys out at sea. “Ahoy! We’re here! Over here! Hallooo!” Yes, I see you. I know you’re there. But Mommy can’t get to you right now. Mommy is still deeply concerned about manuscript one, the one that’s out in the world, being looked at by a literary agent. You know, the one that took years to write? So sink back down to the depths of my hard drive for a while, would you?
My mind goes to and fro. Maybe today isn’t meant for writing? Today I should paint. Who has a birthday or special occasion coming up? I find it easier working on paintings for other people than for myself. Those I put off, much like the sunken manuscripts, waiting, waiting, waiting. The painting above, “Midas Rescued from the Black Hole” was all about waiting. But we won’t go there.
So, a blog? Really? What will I blog about? Paint drying on the canvas? The two very different (and neglected) manuscripts? The odd assortment of items I find on the carpet in my house? The dull, shark-like eyes given me by my family when I say things like, “Someone who isn’t me will be emptying that dishwasher”? Or, how about the line of ants marching in my son’s bedroom? Where are they coming from? Where are they going? It seems purposeless. It’s like they’re on an ant runway, “Does this grain of sand make my butt look big?”
Well here was my blog. My bloggy blog blog. They cannot say I didn’t follow through.