Hey guys! Remember me? No? Well. Yeah. That’s understandable.
I haven’t blogged in a long long time. I don’t even think I can call myself a blogger anymore at this point. I have fallen off the blog wagon many times before. But this last time feels different. I often considered closing my blog altogether because, well, I have nothing interesting to say. And blogs are supposed to be interesting, right? It’s like the age old saying, “if you don’t have anything intriguing/thought-provoking/witty to say, don’t say it at all.
Even when I do think I have something to say worth reading by others, I can’t manage to get my thoughts clearly typed out. I start 1 or 2 paragraphs of a post and then call it quits because my brain [seemingly] can’t/won’t produce intelligibly constructed disquisition. Because let’s be real: I’m never at a loss for words. In fact, I’ve mentioned this very fact in other blog posts after month long hiatuses. At any given moment, I have tons of things to say about a dozen or so subjects. Many of which aren’t particularly unique or extraordinary so I figure, “why bother?”
But as I was reading endless streams of Samantha Irby’s consciousness in her book of essays, Meaty, it occurred to me as I repeatedly laughed aloud on my bus commute how thoroughly entertained I was by the most random observations captured in print by Samantha. I am no published author (aside from scientific articles which hardly count as being a “writer”) with an exceptional voice or perspective that gets paid to have others read what I have to say. So I don’t really have a keen sense of knowing that any prattling I do will be gobbled up by at least a portion of my readers. Or even the ability to determine the framing of my musings in such a way that is compelling, regardless of the actual subject or content.
How the hell will i ever become a better, long-standing writer/blogger if I don’t put forth the effort? How the hell can I be effective in writing about something meaningful if I can’t even write about something arbitrary?
In my attempt to get over my severe aversion to writing about whatever is in my head and just WRITE FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, I’m going to rattle off my random musings for the day. Just because.
- I’m not a germaphobe (or more formally, a mysophobe) but I hate germy-ness. I believe exposure to a certain level of germs is necessary to keep your immune system working effectively. But it really grosses me out when people sneeze into their hands and just start touching everything. Or when people don’t wash their hands after using the bathroom (why do women, especially, have such a big problem with this?!?!). Or people who put their hands under the water for one second (I mean quite literally, I’ve counted) before walking out of the bathroom! How do you turn the water on and off so quickly and think your hands are clean? Cmon people!!
- Similarly, I dislike my skin to touch the seats/railings/people of public transportation. I often wear sweaters or light jackets even in the spring/summer (it was in the 50s when I left today so this is normal and necessary) so as to ensure that my body parts are completely covered and free of bus-dust. I don’t even like to sit around in my apartment with clothes I wore to work because those clothes touched the bus-dust and I don’t want bus-dust on my things. I don’t even like walking past my bed with bus-dusted clothes on. Most women I know take off their bras the second they hit the door – I take off my pants/skirt and replace them with only-worn-at-home bottoms. Bra still on.
- Wearing bras don’t bother me. Because my breasts aren’t large enough for bras to bother me. My big-breasted sistren are always complaining about wearing bras because their tatas are so heavy that holding those bad boys up in restrictive materials is just plain uncomfortable. I feel for yall, I do. But my bras don’t have much to hold up and therefore they’re much less noticeable in my day to day. My biggest issue is my bra strap falling off my shoulder or my boobs needing to be rearranged inside their cups (who would’ve guess that even small boobs could be so hard to contain in an unnaturally pre-molded space). I don’t know if other small-to-medium sized breasted women feel the same, but these things don’t bother me. I like having my boobs secured firmly in place at all times (except when I’m sleeping – they can be free). Even if I plan on spending an entire day at home lounging in my papasan chair, I will wear a sports bra or tank tops with built-in support. If I had Rihanna boobs, I’d never wear bras. Or shirts for that matter.
- I like listening to “smart” podcasts. I was talking to a friend yesterday about podcasts we listen to and I realized most of the podcasts I’m subscribed to are for people who enjoy being intellectually stimulated. One of the podcasts I listen to has the words “pop culture” and “happy hour” in it (NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour) and yet it has by far the most intelligent discourse on music, television, books, and film I’ve ever heard. I guess anything that excludes ratchetness (discussing any VH1 reality TV show or the Knowles-Carter elevator scandal) automatically keeps the IQ of all parties in the smarty-pants range.
What say you? What are your random musings for the day?