I've always wanted to do something important with my life.
I know, being a wife and raising kids and doing good through my job and church and blah-be-de-blah blah blah are important. Very important. So are a lot of other things.
But I want to DO something. CREATE something. And it would help if I could actually finish whatever it is if I ever begin it.
When I was a wee thing, as if there ever was such a time, one of my elderly aunt-type relatives taught me the basics of crocheting. I chained and chained and chained my little heart out. And it was then I decided I was going to make a rug for my room.
I went to the local TG&Y store, a dime store which has long since gone out of business, and bought a skein of lovely, totally unsuitable yarn to go with my tiny, totally unsuitable crochet hook.
And so I began.
I remember Mom saying she was proud of me because I was learning to purchase Useful Things with my money instead of just candy. And that made me even more determined. This was going to be a rug fit for the Taj Mahal...the White House...the National Cathedral. I would become a world reknown rug maker. People would hang my rugs on the walls of art museums. I would become rich and famous for the intricate design and detail of my craftsmanship. Kings, queens, and movie stars would purchase my creations for thousands and thousands of dollars. These rugs would have no equal!
If only I could just finish the first one.
Truth be told, that first little rug ended up being little more than the size of a drink coaster. I lost interest after that. After all, there was no more encouragement, no one was banging on my door wanting to buy it, and it was obviously an amateur work.
That's the way I feel about much of what I do. Whether it's decorating the living room, planning a party, choosing what to eat for dinner or what to wear to a wedding, I am woefully inadequate. I have no sense of style, no voice of my own when it comes to writing, no true talent to captivate or create or make decisions in my own life.
So how the heck can I possibly do all of that for someone else?
All this to say Hubster is encouraging me to write. So I have been. And it gets just about as far as a blog page and then dries up and blows away. So I keep on beginning, never finishing. And I can't tell you how frustrating that is. There has to be some way to tie in and fill out and tell the story of people without pulling their teeth to do it.
Because then, you know, it would be as painful for them as it was for me. And it might make a pretty freaky reading book. Or article. Or story. Or piece of wastepaper.
And that's the dilemna for this evening. Any ideas would be appreciated.
Secondly, it seems I will be checking in to the Hospital California (you can check in any time you like, but you can never leave...) sister of the Hotel California of Eagles fame - sometime tomorrow morning. I'm surrendering quietly - no need for the National Guard to hunt me down. I've had it with this stuff. If getting rid of it means checking in for a couple of days, I'll check in.
At least I'll have time to write mundane garbage and never finish it. Hmmm...that would be a change.
And this hospital has WIFI to go along with the prednisone IVs.
Clarabelle and I will survive.