"There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter - and bleed."
- Ernest Hemingway
I write this on a Sunday afternoon...propped up against the pillows on my bed...wondering if I should write or take a nap.
I will probably do both...a little writing...a little napping.
Sometimes I really feel like writing...and I have this urge to say something...only I don't really know what that "something" is.
I trust the urge, however, and just start writing.
|There I am. Pigtails and all.|
Like right now.
So far...nothing terribly enlightening.
|Maybe it's the pigtails.|
Perhaps they are too tight?
It's not the blonde.
That is a constant!
It has come to my attention that with each passing year, the Great Toronto Area here in Canada - where I live - seems to be getting closer to having 2 seasons rather than 4. We are either complaining about how frickin' freezing cold it is or complaining about the heat and humidity.
What this has to do about anything is beyond me. Oh....stream-of-consciousness writing!
For a few short weeks between these two extremes, we have the "nice" weather of "Spring" and "Autumn". Those few weeks of weather that seems "just right"...so comfortable and pleasant that going inside just seems sinful.
It is not one of those days.
Today it is June and by now the summer weather has kicked in.
It is hot and it is humid.
Thank you Jesus for central air.
Handling my 2-year-olds tantrums about not wanting to go down for his nap are a little more wearing on my ears when the air feels heavier.
|I much prefer this happy, little dude!|
The thought of cooking near the heat of the stove seems exhausting.
So I'll make a sandwich.
I wish I had a pool.
But I don't.
|Here I am at someone else's pool.|
OK. Not me.
But a reasonable facsimile!
|OK. This IS me.|
See...flower in the hair and everything.
And now it is Sunday evening.
Yeah...I had that nap. Then played with my 2 year old. Then went to the store. And here I am again.
Feeling like writing with little to write about at the moment.
Perhaps I should write a poem.
Fighting to get the words
into a state...
I try to think of themes...
of dreams I know I've had
for you to chew.
But this one...
you'll spit out
because I don't know what to say
and yet I stay.
Is that OK?
It's my blog...
and like a frog...
I jump around.
Just words...no sound.
until I fall...
And hit the wall.
Until I stop.
Lora Rossi, June, 2013
Well....that was no better. LOL
Welcome and good bye from one of the most pointless blog posts I have ever written. Almost as exciting as my blog post about nothing.
|Uhhhh....I believe I just did.|