A creative mind is a kind of mushy not often found in this world.
Not in a ‘this apple is too old to eat’ kind of way. More in a, ‘you can’t sit on a plate of flan or you’ll flatten it’ kind of way. It’s malleable in all the right ways, and when it’s healthy and strong, the best stuff comes shooting out of it.
Yeah, like sparklers.
Like a new pair of glasses or first-edition Chewbacca figure, it’s best to keep a creative mind protected 24-7 in the box it came in. But what fun is that? And what function? Just don’t sit on your glasses. Or lose Chewie’s crossbow.
No, that’s not a redundancy, although it kind of is. Moms do make the world go ‘round. You know I love moms. I feel like moms read this blog. Did you know when I started, I thought, I’m going to write a blog that dads and dudes will read and follow and love.
Yeah, right, a cohort said at the time.
It’s going to be women who read you, she was saying. Moms, mostly. They’ll identify with you and share your stuff with each other. They’ll share with their men, too, but mostly, the men won’t listen. They’ll wish their men were a bit like you.
It’s fun. It’s just … extra. I love going to other blogs I’d not normally see. But the engagement is wonky, and I miss conversing with the regulars here. And visiting their blogs. And having time to post on social media and find your links there, too.
When you’re in the challenge, man, it feels like you’re kind of a narcissist.
Not to mention what it does to your non-blog life. I struggled to keep up, and sacrificed progress toward other deadlines. And sleep. Not snacks. I found time for snacks. But the rest of life was kind of a blur. Next time I do this, I’ll work ahead.
We’re almost to the end of the #AtoZChallenge. Actually, the rest of the world has finished. They’re in the clubhouse. I’m still putzing around out here. Makes me nostalgic for yesteryear, when a guy like me was able to finish a challenge like this on time.
It’s not apathy – I still have this yearning to write, every day.
It’s the time that lacks, the need to yield to life in other ways. I want to keep learning about writing, about words. I also want to learn to talk like an auctioneer. This is a true story. I ask my kids if they’d rather I spoke like an auctioneer or learned to yodel.
These pockets of in-overbookedness don’t happen often.
Rather than get a jumpstart on 53 things that needed jump-starting, I didn’t jump. And I sure as hell didn’t start. Not right away. A day brimming with a promise to put me ahead in everything where I was behind curtained sharply into a back-to-the-pillow nosedive.
The car got washed, the chicken, cooked (not grilled.)
And it’s 1:21 on Sunday morning, sleep time for another day of possibility, but I’m instead forging ahead to maybe close at least one gap – this A to Z Challenge. W, X, Y, and Z remain. One day remains in this weekend.
It’s going to be tough to claim victory in this one.
I’m days behind, trying in vain to catch up for the A to Z challenge. I wanted to write about vulnerability today, harkening back to some meditation fog observation I’d made about stepping in from the vestibule of life and really opening yourself up.
Me preaching the virtues of vulnerability would be like me spelling out the benefits of Valerian Root for menopausal symptoms.
I haven’t ventured out of the vortex of my comfort zone like that in ages. I’d be a villain to write that post. I wrote about valentine’s day once, the day after valentine’s day. This wasn’t long after Madison decided not to play for the Converse College Valkyries.
When the kids say something about subs at a soccer match, my mind goes to steak and cheese. Or turkey and avocado. It’s just how it is and I can’t change it. But the distraction is mostly temporary.
When I sub a kid into a game, it gives us a bit of a forum to talk that we don’t normally get.
You’re my mom’s favorite coach, but not my dad’s one girl told me. A new player told me how nervous she was to get in. Hayden didn’t spend a lot of time there, but as she waited to go back in after getting her first yellow card, we both tried not to snicker too loud.
I don’t have time for all this! But also, I’ve been given 24 hours to figure out how to do it all – that’s a lot of time! (I also think about Michelle Gingras, Stonehenge, and Havarti cheese, but that’s for another post.)
What’s left in the middle is that time is time, there’s no time like the present, you can’t make new time, and it’s time to go. Also, I might not have time to finish this post until tonight, which is sorta like getting to the fair 10 minutes before it packs up and hits the road.
It’s time for the letter I in the #AtoZChallenge. I picked three questions with the letter I from the list. They’re also the oldest I questions, so it’s nostalgic. These were probably asked at least six years ago. There are some hilarious early questions in there.
For example: Are jesters slaves to the queen?
Good one. Can’t wait to tackle that one. I suspect it might have arisen as we talked about my employment options at one point. I so was born in the wrong era, y’ all. Ever get that feeling? At least I can still blog about it.
Even though sometimes it feels that way. A friend in need recently asked if I could just put the Zen on a shelf and be pissed off with her. Yes, I can. My girls’ team said, coach, you know, you can be pissed at us sometimes. We need that.
Oh, I’ve been pissed at them.
I’ve been mad at my team not for bad results, but subpar effort. I’ve been ticked at dudes who are crap puddles to female friends of mine. I’m angry about the Rockies’ rocky start and that if Kobe Bryant farts, it gets the headline over any Denver Nuggets victory.