Writer's Block

I’ve sat down a bunch of times to write -  I get a thought in my head, YES!  Whoo hooo something to talk about…and then mid way through the first or second paragraph…nothing.  I lose my writing mojo.   It isn’t enough to sustain an entire post--  delete delete delete..  and try again.

I write this little blog as a catharsis for myself.   I lack that other grown up person to babble to at night about the arcane (and maybe not quite so) things that went on during the day (or in my head).   I need an intellectual release and so, I write.  And delete…. And write….and delete

And sometimes it makes it to “publish” where those of you that actually follow my ramblings can be held captive (or frightened) by the mind that is me.  Majority of you have known me forever, thank you for that, and so read to support me in this random endeavor.  

I fall in love with many different projects all the time-  I have a cabinet full of baking supplies, I have a drawer full of ribbons and pretty accessories, I have boxes of fabric, Rubbermaid totes full of paper, glue, glitter, and the like.  I flit from one thing to another as the mood hits me.  My projects are always creative in nature.  I jump in, get covered in glue and flour.  I lean too close to the sewing machine and get smacked in the forehead with the little arm that drives the needle up and down.  I make a huge mess and then become disenchanted when I realize that the maid I thought I hired isn’t coming.

I can laugh in the wake of all of this because I know myself.  I know that I am more driven in my own mind than in practice and with proper channeling, I could amaze even my own self with my efforts.  But I don’t do it.  That’s just me, I accept it and grab onto my creative spurts and ride the wave while it lasts.  

I, like most of my peers, am on Facebook.  I’ve reconnected with numerous friends and made incredible new ones through this website.  I get lost in playing games and wandering through peoples pictures of their happiness and heartbreak.  Lacking the adult conversation sometimes in my own home, I love spending time chatting with others, laughing at what they send me, debating what we might disagree on, learning about things I didn’t know about.  From time to time, people do these lists of seemingly random facts about themselves:  Get to know me, what you didn’t know, hopes and fears, etc.  I read them eagerly to learn more about my friends, but I never actually do them myself. 

So here, on my space, with my writer’s block intact, I’ll give some random facts.  And remember, you came here voluntarily…

I was born in England-  As a child, I was tormented with the fact that I was a Tory.  I cringed whenever we studied the American Revolution because I knew someone would revel in the fact that I was “the bad guy”.

I wore glasses, big coke bottle glasses as a child until my grandmother got me fitted for contact lenses.  I once fought with a boy, I punched him, he punched me back and broke my glasses.  He got in trouble.  I started it.

I had a beautiful 10 speed bike when I was younger.  I went too fast down a hill and flipped over the handle bars, sliding down the hill on my back and elbow.  My back healed nicely after they picked the pebbles out.  My elbow still shows the scars.  I never rode that bike again, it rusted sitting outside.  I am ashamed about that.

I am horribly afraid of fire.  I can deal with it in a fire pit or fire place, but the idea of a house fire terrifies me to my core.  If I watch a movie where there is an uncontrolled fire, I hide until it’s over.  I cannot watch Backdraft to this day because it scares me to death.

I hate Braham’s Lullabye.  Mary Ingall’s baby died in a house fire (see the correlation?) and they were playing that tune during that part of the show.  I refused to play any music boxes with that song when my children were infants.

I love dragonflies.  This one isn’t that big of a mystery, pretty easy to guess if you even know me a tiny bit.   I find peace and happiness when a dragonfly chooses me to visit.  I know it’s crazy, but I greet them as my friends and talk to them whenever they come around.  I talk to most animals and believe they understand me.  

I won’t eat mushrooms or eggplant.  The textures creep me out.

I’m stubborn.  I might appear to be easy going and relenting, but I’ll dig my heels in like a mule if there is something I don’t feel like doing (right or wrong).  I am working on that.

I’m insanely loyal which is a good thing, but sometimes it clouds my ability to be objective.  

I think I am tougher than I am.  I forget sometimes that I lack height.  

In college, my parents let me borrow our old Nissan Sentra for the last week of classes.  My dad filled the tank before I left.  I was to drive it to KSC and park it.  I did not do that.  I drove all over the place all week and wound up breaking down on the way home from school, car loaded to the roof with my belongings.  I had to walk to the Yarn Barn to call my mother.  She came to rescue me.  I was caught because I told them that I had stopped to put gas in before I left to head home.  They were not happy.  The car never ran again.

I was taught by example.  One day I got a flat tire in Marlborough, NH.  I called my father to come help me as I did not know what to do (I was all of 18-19).  My father drove 45 minutes to come help.  He jacked up the car, took off the old tire, put on the spare and brought the car back down.  Then he put the car back up, took off the new tire, put back on the flat tire and lowered the car.  He handed me the jack and said, “now you do it”..  I have never forgotten that-  I have never been stranded with a tire on the side of the road again and more over, that gave me the where with all to figure things out in a time of need.

And lastly; I think that I am a great singer in my car.  I hold rock concerts and I am the star.  I always have my hairbrush poised for my incredible vocal stylings.