?????

Yeah, I just don't have a catchy title today. But, it occurred to me that the advice I gave my boyfriend (about writing every day, even if it's only a sentence) is advice I need to take.

I haven't been writing much this summer. Oh, I had a brief stint where I worked on my novel (a never-ending process if there was one), but aside from that and letters to friends and notes to family, I haven't done any writing for about three months.

None. Nada. Zilch. Not even here, on my blog.

I just don't feel...motivated to write. I have always used writing as a means of exorcising my internal demons and now to my surprise, I don't seem to have any demons. Oh sure, I dislike the way I look sometimes, or my hair gives me trouble or the 40+ C heat gets to me...but those are minor things; the squabbles that come with living life.

My question is, where the heck has my writing gone?

Did it vanish? Did it run away to someone else who is miserable and doesn't know how to express herself? Since neither of those things apply to me, maybe my writing took a vacation. It's been on call for about ten years; that's a long time to work with no breaks. It should sue.

I think (I hope) that my writing hiatus stems from my external rather than internal focus (my therapist would be so proud; I use such big, fancy words). These days I am focused on my friends, boyfriend, and family members and not so much myself.

So...yeah. There really isn't a title for this kind of...whatever.
WolfGrrl

Potluck Friendship

The sign of a good friend is not, as they are finishing their last lap of a two-mile run, to stand on the sidelines and yell "Run Forest, run!" at the top of your lungs. Besides amusing everyone within hearing range and making a total fool of yourself, you also annoy the crap out of your friend by doing this.

It was pretty fun though.

My therapist is always telling me to list good things about myself, and then she gets mad at me when "friend" isn't on there. Honestly, (as the above example should illustrate) I'm not all that sure I'm a good friend.

Oh sure, I listen when someone's having a bad day and I try to understand what they need from me to feel better. I worry about my friends and I laugh with them (and when they're being stupid, at them). I am fierce in their defense and forgive them anything, but I don't see these things as being particularly special. Maybe this has to do with my terror of being a burden: in my life, I want nothing so much as to make those around me happy (obviously I don't care about making neo-Nazi plagiarists happy).

Despite all this however, I seem to have little trouble making friends. Sometimes it takes me a while and sometimes I meet people and we just click. Who can say what governs the mysterious alchemy of friendship? It's like the food in the dining hall: sometimes it's fulgy as all-get-out, and sometimes you strike pure culinary gold. (Only without the food part, obviously.)

Right. I think it's fair to say that my brain has checked out for the day. Off to fight with my computer over James Bond. I want to watch Daniel Craig shoot people, and the computer apparently has parental tendencies and thinks Bond films are bad for me. Either that, or it's a radical feminist disguised as technology.

Oh Lord...
WolfGrrl