write in blog at least once a month.
I try to keep at least some things in life simple. (Proper to contrary belief.) Yes, that was intentional dyslexia. It's a Liz-ism and the full sentence in which it was coined is as follows: "Proper to contrary belief, I am NOT a man". Apparently she thought we were the ones confused.
Anyway, it's the end of the month. As is now habit, I start this post with nothing more than excuses to compel me onward.
First off I have to confess my ambiguous sentiments toward the blogosphere. I feel like I'm echoing my first post here, but when I think of blogs and blogging, several words come to mind:
love. hate. awe (as in wonder). awe (as in awful). envy. denial of said envy. egocentricity. hypocrisy.
and sweet justification.
See, part of me thinks that blogging is kinda evil. In the same way that Facebook is evil. In that it's takes keeping up with the Jones's to a whole new and totally-too-hip-for-anyone's-true- good-ish level. Like I remember being on my mission and having something happen and thinking "perfect status update". Like everyone would be better off for seeing how awesome my life was or how funny I am. And I mean let's face it, blog-stalking blows any other forms of stalking out the window. It's feels so wrong to read the intricacies of another person's life. And yet, so right. Maybe the only ambiguity here is me, but I can't believe that harboring opposing opinions and feelings on a subject is all that healthy so I just have to get this out there. It's such a self-centered mentality that is being nurtured here, this million-and-one-ways to express one's self culture that we live in. And then there's the hours you waste in front of screen, whether reading or writing, and to what real end? Are there not books to be read, places to be visited, and people in our lives who need, US, in all our flesh and blood glory, to do things that cannot be done with mouse and keyboard?
I want to be too big of a person for it. But I'm not. I'm just little sunny. And sometimes, it is like my siren call.
So for this reason I sometimes stay away from posting anything here. Because I don't want to loathe myself afterward for being so self-involved. It occurred to me that maybe I would feel better if I followed other people's blogs. A kind of "I'll feel better about wanting you to read mine if I read yours". But then there's the threat of living vicariously (a dangerous drug) or you end up coveting this or that that someone else has or does or is or, on the other hand, you figuratively walk away a little too self-satisfied.
I'm starting to feel like the evil of blogging all comes from me and that I'm just projecting it here and that maybe I'm being too honest. So I hope I don't offend anyone.
So my goal number two is do the blog thing in moderation. (Which is the obvious answer, but I feel is easier said than done). I can't swear off of it because I think there is something about writing and knowing that someone might read it that compels me to do, live, and become more. If nothing else, it is the thing that gets me writing; gets the rambling, bad writing, out of my system so that I can move on to something more worthwhile. For this reason I have dubbed it a necessary evil, and one that I should do (ever so slightly) more of.
So I am going to try to balance things out. Follow some blogs, set some limits, and above all try to write things that are worth (a relative term, thank my stars) writing and reading, even if only for my sanity. Well I realized, just today, in fact,that I don't even know how to follow another person's blog. So if anyone knows how, please let me know.
Apart from blogging about blogging, I don't have a whole lot to say that fits my new parameters.
But I can say that since January I have come across a few things are worth sharing.
The first is this book:
Yes, it is The Little Prince. And it pops up.
One of my girls from class brought it in while we were doing a little unit on the book. My copy is officially in the mail.
I have such a thing for children's books. I can't usually get through this book without crying. It's pretty sad. (My crying, not the book).
For those of you who have never read it, it will change your lives. Here's a copy of the book's dedication, and it gives you a fair idea of what to expect from the book itself.
TO LEON WERTH
I ask the indulgence of the children who may read this book for dedicating it to a grown-up. I have a serious reason: he is the best friend I have in the world. I have another reason: this grown-up understands everything, even books about children. I have a third reason: he lives in France where he is hungry and cold. He needs cheering up. If all these reasons are not enough, I will dedicate the book to the child from whom this grown-up grew. All grown-ups were once children-- although few of them remember it. And so I correct my dedication:
TO LEON WERTH
WHEN HE WAS A LITTLE BOY
Thirdly, my voyage into the realm of barefoot running has been an adventure so far. I was trying to train for a half marathon in April. I haven't run over 4 miles in over 2 months and haven't run over 5 miles ever. But I'm not going to stress it because right now I'm working of perfecting my form by going barefoot. The mileage will come, I tell myself. But I have to say that barefoot running has been the best thing ever to happen to my calves. Sure, they hurt like nothing else afterward, but man are they starting to look good. This might sound like vanity to some, but if you saw me during my awkward years (8-18) you would understand that I have a right to rejoice over not having chicken legs. I earned it by the sweat of my brow. Quite literally.
Now I'm not trying to sway anyone here or anything, since my Barefoot sejour has been a short, and I consider, incomplete, but I do have to tout the awesomeness which is sprinting at the end of a run. I couldn't believe my legs the first time I tried it. It's like they weren't even there and I was just flying. I can't wait for spring to come so I can get out and really get my feet dirty.
So two months of the year are pretty much gone and I only have two books read to show for it. If you were to tell me that 2010 would be the year in which I only read a book a month I would be really depressed but that's what it's shaping up to be unless I learn stop wasting my time googleing why this or that is hurting me, the tastiest chocolate granola recipe, the healthiest chocolate granola, how to substitute tasty ingredients for healthy ones, and what the best rice cooker is and is a rice cooker even worth having in the first place if you are just one person and don't eat rice every day. Honestly, these are things I have wasted hours on the past couple of weeks.
But I finally did manage to finish Cormac McCarthy's "The Road" even our book club still hasn't met and may never again. I'll join a book club and spare you all my musings on that subject.
For Valentines day weekend I was under the weather and decided to pamper myself. I picked up an old childhood favorite, one that ingrained in me the belief that I had writing in my blood and that that blood was Scottish. I can't be objective where this book is concerned as it is probably the book I have read the most throughout my life and encompasses a lot of memories. How good it really is I cannot fairly say but it was definitely a guilty pleasure reading this again:
My major accomplishment for the month of February was finishing the introduction of Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath, a book I've been dying to read for years. The intro was way tedious but now that I'm reading it, I'm glad I went to the effort of plodding through the intro even if it did scare me away quite a bit from the actual text itself.
Well, I think I probably got all my venting about blogging out of the way and, sufficiently excused, I hope to write next time without reservation.
In case you were wondering, on my list of purchases for next month is my own pair of little pink shorts. Ned's getting pretty sick of me always taking hers. I can't wait to see what scandalous little number I will end up with.
