(Warning or Suggestion – take it how you want – This is long a little rambling, but there’s a point.)

I realise that it has been far too long since I posted anything.  Why do I care?  Because for some reason, I feel that writing makes me feel more important, or involved, or interesting, or some other ‘i’ word.  I really wish I had more drive to stick to decisions I make, like ranting on my blog, or attending the gym three times a week.  Or even making supper every day.  (Yeah, my pie graph on my bank statement shows a hefty dining portion, much like my habitual pie portion at the very same dining establishments.)

But, does this mean I’m a lost cause?  I hope not.  I don’t get out as often as I like to, so the extent of my adult conversation is at my employment, which is new by the way!  And, sometimes, it’s the few and far between visits I have with my friends.  But, ultimately, there’s something so much more ‘me’ in these blog posts than a lot of the conversations I have outside my PC box.  I am not good at small talk (ask most of the customers who come through the till at work that I’ve only been learning for maybe five days, I’m the one who says ‘You too’ when they say something other than have a good day).  I try desperately to be comfortable with the silent pauses in conversations.  I don’t keep up with the news or even my own immediate family’s doings, so I don’t have a lot to talk about.  Until I sit at my computer/iphone at 11pm.  Maybe it’s because I have a bad memory.  Or I’m overwhelmed.  I keep thinking I need one of those little tape recorders that journalists and CEO’s used to carry so they could quickly dictate to themselves for later what they needed to tend to later on.  I tried it with my iPhone, when I finally got one.  It lasted a day.  Maybe I’m just too laid back to really care deep down.  But, since I’m not on facebook anymore, I feel so left out.  Even my one friend who used to berate all us facebookers about how horrible it is and how we always forget she’s not on facebook, she is now in there like a dirty shirt and I am the one who is left off of the invite list.  And, inviting my husband in no way guarantees that even he will be aware of the event, and so i am probably the last one who would find out too late about it.  Funny that my husband was the one who originally encouraged me to first log into facebook.  I did, reluctantly.  And after several years of 4:30pm mad rushes to make a supper that looked like I’d spent all day planning it, all while rushing around and setting the all-time speed record for cleaning my house like it took eight hours, he is the reason I gave it up.  (Why can’t I clean like that when I have time to clean????)  And now HE’S the one who is on there everyday, spending his grumpy evenings scrolling like a zombie through people’s pages and making me realise how stupid I looked.  So I guess, blogging is my way of staying somewhat connected.  To something.  I don’t even know what…  And, I fight with myself about whether I should ask him to change his password so I stop trolling facebook under his name….

A friend of mine has been going through some ‘what’s my purpose’ stuff lately.  And yet, in the midst of all her chaos (which she hates), and change (which she hates) she is managing to maintain almost daily blog posts!  And she is the most private person I know, so I struggle with the irony of her ability and my inability.  I am one of the least private people, I share my bathroom stories with new friends and am not afraid of wearing a bikini on a holiday.  I find myself talking too loud in public about things I find either funny or exciting and realise all too late that the entire place has either cleared out because of the topics or people across the room are laughing at the exact moments the people at my table are laughing.  And it also seems to go the other way, everyone who doesn’t know me feels this inexplicable ease with which to share their most private thoughts, and I appreciate being the sounding board as I do it to others, and they always stop mid-topic suddenly realising  out loud that they’ve “never told anyone this stuff!” and they continue on.  It makes me feel special to be that openly accepted.  But sometimes I feel like I need more.  Like my blogging friend.  She’s my bestie, and she too surprised herself with how open she was with me.  She felt like she needed an anonymous outlet to share the shit that happens everyday, so she blogs anonymously.  Whether people read it or not.  And they do.  And then there’s mine.  I love what I write.  I love making people laugh, or feel the ‘I’m not alone!!’ feeling.  I love writing.  I love the freedom of a blog.  And yet, I forget about it in a month, or a couple days depending on the week.  And especially when I notice that there are no hits.  I’m the comedian who keeps making these awesome jokes and telling them to anyone who’ll listen in hopes that someone will laugh and instead, gets irritated crickets.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m broken.  I worked painting houses with a different friend, she was always so fit and when we’d work together and there were people around I always felt so out of shape just being in the same room as her.  Now, she’s much less active than she used to be, and she’s mostly ok with it, and I’m the one who’s attending Crossfit.  And lately it’s been three times a week.  And yet, aside from the ass-kicking that my knees are taking, I know I’m getting stronger and fitter, but I think I am realising that it’s not just my body that was crying for a change.  I don’t know what to do about my brain.  I know I can’t drop everything and there just aren’t enough free days that coincide between mine and my closest friends’ schedules for venting days, and sometimes those conversations leave the hamster in my head guzzling red bull like a frat boy.  Perhaps I need to enforce a bedtime?  My hubby thinks so.  But he’s been sleeping like shit lately too, so I don’t know.

I sit here, looking at my screen and can think of a million things to write.  Stories that would make people laugh, if not just smile.  It’s like having a friend who is always on, and never takes on the burdens of your stress, but I don’t think about it until 11pm and then end up tired the next day.  Or instead of awesome stories that are short and fun to read, there’s a 1,500 word essay on the trivialties of being me.

You know, my husband always asks me why I tell the world my problems.  It’s because in talking about my problems out loud, and often more than once, I usually find the answer hidden right in front of me.  I just re-read this post, hoping to edit it down to 300 words (lol, yeah right!) and there it was.  I come here simply to make someone out there laugh.  My friend uses her blog to vent or rant or share her disbelief in her fuck up of a day because its anonymous and she’s so private she wouldn’t even share her favourite colour with you (and it’s not black…).  Answer:  I am not private. I’ve told someone about it already and while I enjoy the possibility of making you laugh, that’s all it is.  A possibility.  No guarantee.  Crossfit has worked for me, I am sticking to it even though I have that small nagging voice on my shoulder saying I’m tired and this is getting old, I beat it away with the dowel I use for shoulder warmups and push through because I get results.  I am guaranteed that the work I put in will end in positive feedback even if it’s just from me, or my pants that don’t sigh when I sit down to supper anymore.  I still love to blog, I still want to make people laugh, especially if I don’t know them because strangers don’t feel obligated to laugh like acquaintances do.  (Closest friends sometimes laugh AT me and I’m usually laughing too, so I lie to myself at times and say it was WITH me!)  But, I guess I also don’t write often because I have so much other stuff going on that this is at the bottom of the 12 page to-do list.  It’s a want, not a need.  Something maybe, so I can say ‘go read about it on my blog’ instead of telling the same story 100 times and waiting for crickets.  I don’t get let down if nobody laughs, because there’s no feedback bar for personal reactions (lol!).   And my laundry isn’t folding itself.

Bestie, teach me to be a minimalist.

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