Why is it that I think of tons of things to write about when I'm not actually writing? Like, I'll be sitting with Husband and think, "ooohhh that would be a great blog!" And then when I sit down, "ZAP!" there's nothing. There is a big hole in my head where all those great ideas were.
"Write them down," you say...or you would say if you were in my head.
So I do, and then I come back to them and think, "Nah...that's not it for today." I have tons of ideas that have vacated my brain that would have been perfect and tons of ideas that were perfect another day. Ugh!
So today, I've decided to share some of my crazy. And I don't know if this is normal, or if really I'm a little nuts. If I'm a little nuts, will you just humor me and pretend that you know exactly what I'm talking about? You know, nod and say, "Oh My God! I know exactly what you mean!"
I have a constant inner monolouge going on.
We're not talking Geppetto, we're talking a live translator.
I rarely just say something. I'm usually thinking it before I'm saying it. And if I do say it, then I'm thinking about the countless ways I could have said it differently. What word do I emphasize? Did I say it in the right tone? Did they not understand me? Because if they didn't understand me, it's my JOB to make sure that they do.
Let's say that I'm talking with a friend. I'm relaxed but then they don't respond how I anticipate. This is when the variables start dancing in my head. Did I say it in the wrong tone? How should I phrase the next bit? Is she a close enough friend that I can make some raunchy reference or do I have to tone it down? Do I have to be nice/PC or can I just spit out what I want to say? Or if I do take a chance and just say it, will she think I'm awful? Will she sever ties for the one comment I make flippantly in jest?
I have to admit, it's tiring. I do it with my parents, my siblings, my children, my friends and of course with all the acquaintances.
I think the only person I don't do it with is Husband. Honestly.
With Husband, I just can't manage it. He's seen me too many times messing up words when I'm sick. He claims that the week before my period is exceptionally amusing. I am his source of entertainment. He's heard me without the script and yet, he still loves me.
You would think that at this moment, Ariel would come crashing through the waves in my brain singing her revolutionary "Ah-ah-ahhhhh, ah-ah-ah-ah-ahhhhh, ah-ah-ahhhhhhhhhhhh." But no, the clear-headed thinking stops here. Maybe I'll be like Maya Angelou and wear purple when I'm old, but I'm not old yet.