(Read George’s post on The Bad Blog to see what the deal is, but I’m not talking about it today. Nope. Don’t want to. Taking the day off.)
In the theme of not writing about mumble mumble today, I was talking with my coworker about what I’d like to write about instead of mumble mumble. Like what did I used to write when I was younger, and before the last four years had become focused on a certain health-related theme?
I wrote my first poem when I was a dust bunny of a kid, barely able to reach the kitchen counter. It was about my cat. And it was not profound:
My cat is big and fat.
Can you imagine that?
It likes to purr
And lick its fur.
I wonder why it does that?
Epic. And sad, because here I am, 20-something years later, still writing about furry animals. (But that’s a digression I can’t, in pursuit of avoiding the “lady with the cats” stereotype for five minutes, make.) But honestly, my first love was poetry. I used to fill notebooks with sonnets and I wrote couplets on napkins. I wrote about my middle school political leanings (I know. It was a little weird.) I wrote about the environment. I wrote about falling in love with that boy who say behind me in 5th grade and stole my pencil box. I actually used a feather pen at one point because I thought that’s what “real writers” used. And I wanted so badly to be a real writer.
Poetry gave way to fiction (Now I’m really letting my inner-nerd out: Did anyone else read those DragonLance novels and wish they had a Tanis Half-Elven to tuck them in at night? No? Just me?), and the fiction I wrote in high school hit a serious range, too. I did the “young adult romance” stuff, but it was really just me writing about what I wish my high school boyfriend would have said to me. And I did the “fantasy fiction” stuff based on my aforementioned obsession with Mr. Half-Elven.
But despite all this angsty, elvish, tree-hugging writing, I always ended up defaulting to humor writing. My mom always liked Erma Bombeck and she would buy me the anthologies. I thought Erma was pretty entertaining. And then I found Dave Barry (I know – you might be rolling your eyes but he had a “back up dog” named Zippy, which made me laugh every time), and then I found Bill Bryson, who had a subtler sense of humor but is exceedingly clever and makes me want to smith up some words.
And then: David Sedaris.
I think I’d like to be a humorist. I like to make people laugh, and I like allowing my pen to write the thoughts that are really colliding around in my head. And writing about mumble mumblecan be distressing at times, so letting myself laugh at it all, and at just about everything else, helps me live a more balanced existance. Besides, some stuff is just too funny to not laugh at.
I would just like to laugh for a while.
And that’s what I’m thinking about on this day of not talking about mumble mumble, my second-to-last-day at work, and two days before I embark on a whole new mess of adventures in my life.
(For more d-bloggers who aren’t d-blogging today, follow the #nodday hashtag on Twitter!)