I have nothing to say. (You’ve heard this before, haven’t you?)
But really really really want to write this morning, to share, to sprout words like daffodils, to hatch sentences like baby robins, all squawking and chirping and nestled beneath Mama’s orange paragraph breast.
(Oh my goodness–how’s that for a metaphor from the sleep-deprived brain-fuddled depths? Should I return to bed instead of create? No, no. Let’s see what other metaphors or similes might arise with the morning sun.)
Couldn’t. Sleep. Last. Night.
Around 2:30 a.m. finally returned to soft flannel sheets for the third time and released into dreamless exhaustion. I can remember pouring a bowl of cereal with plump blueberries around midnight. Even briefly turned on the computer and paused by the hearth of this blog to check what wuz happening. Something one shouldn’t do when attempting to sleep. Far too interesting.
I am a little nervous about trying to entertain the 110 new subscribers who arrived on the blog’s doorstep since the Freshly Press incident last week. (Was it only last week? Feels like a dozen years ago.)
What are they expecting? Wit every day? Hugely entertaining posts about blogging conduit? We know they’re not anticipating exquisite photography, because they signed on with minimalist sweet chickadee in snow photos. So we’re safe. We can post whatever pictures arise, and they might even enjoy.
Will they stick around if it’s boring?
Will they stick around when nothing’s happening?
(Answer: Kathy, you schtick! You silly, silly girl. You’re caring what others think again. You just write. You just follow your heart up the snowy road and down the snowy road. One foot in front of the other. How many times do we have to tell you this?)
Visited my 90-year old friend, Anita, on Tuesday afternoon. She’s the one that tells jokes. She told me four jokes this time, all about ministers. Let’s see if I can remember one.
A minister was walking through town. He came upon a boy standing near the four corners. “Can you tell me how to get to the post office?” he asked the boy. The boy nodded, and pointed down the street to the post office. The minister thanked him profusely. Then, because he was a minister, he knelt down and asked the child if he knew about Jesus. Did he know about Heaven? The minister asked, “Do you want to know how to get to Heaven?” The boy paused for several minutes, finally shaking his head no. “Why don’t you want to know?” the minister asked. “Mister, you don’t even know how to get to the post office! I don’t think you’re going to know how to get to Heaven.”
OK, then. All I can tell you is that when Anita told the joke we both laughed uproariously for ten seconds.
It would be interesting to see what kind of blog Anita might write. She taught high school English for many years. She would write grammatically correct sentences that would not end in prepositions. At post-ninety, she probably doesn’t care what others think any more.
I want to be like her when I grow up.
Sometimes I don’t care what others think at all. Like this morning. Writing this blog that just ambles around the block and back. Just letting the sentences sprout like mushrooms. Not worrying what John, Patty or Harry think.
Writing because it feeds the soul! Writing because we can. Writing just Because.
You know what feels good?
Letting yourself feel some minor insecurity, smiling softly that it still arises, and then allowing yourself to be the fullest person you can be.
Not believing your insecurity.
Not letting it diminish the quality of your wild & precious life.
Well, I could write another half hour without stopping but must do non-computer chores:
1) Stoke wood stove.
2) Do yoga. At least sunrise salutations.
3) Meditate. Or at least sit on the couch and not think. Or watch the thoughts think and not believe them.
4) Eat breakfast. Do you think I should eat another bowl of cereal with blueberries or wait until lunch? Silly question. Second bowl of Kashi cereal with blueberries coming up.
5) Prepare to file 2011 personal records and file income taxes. Are you getting a refund? I am 85.2% sure that we will.
6) Spend some time outdoors in the 36 degree warmth. (2 degrees Celsius.) Balmy weather for this time of year!
OK, dear reader. I truly had nothing to say. Remember, you writers, do NOT believe your mind when it wimps that there is nothing to say. Just sit down and start writing. Write your joys, your insecurities, jokes from your 90-year old friend, and your to-do list.
What a fabulous way to start the day!
P.S. Do you think it’s OK to abandon my to-do list and just return to bed for a wee nap? Never mind what you think, John, Patty and Harry. See you after a few more snoozes…