2003-10-24 - 1:18 a.m.
I am a little not myself lately: I realize that I have not missed blogging the way I used to. Not long ago I saw the world through a blogger’s eyes, much like an artist sees the world where everything is potential material for some later book or etching or photograph; from point of view where the world is not enjoyed for itself, but picked at for what could be further created from what already is. I was never the objective blogger who wrote of things that were disconnected from my emotions—just like a girl—so I did not look at the world as a journalist does either. I was more like the camera-man who could never fully participate in the scene he is preserving for everyone to enjoy over and over again.
Sadly, I can not say what keeps me so busy that I can not write a consistent blog. From my couch I can look you in the eyes and tell you that I don’t know what I do for fun, because I seldom do anything for the purpose of fun. Lately this has changed… to asking myself nothing at all. A few weeks ago I could not sit still to read a book or do anything for any reason without feeling like I should be doing something else more productive, “What would be the best thing for me to do right now?” Then I was scheduled to close the store and I had company and I have a wedding to attend as my life creeps back to some normalcy and I find all my old routines have gone.
For the first time that I can remember I made someone’s day with my lack of pop-culture. Michael tried to talk to me about a lead singer from the Backstreet Boys. He could tell by my blank look that I did not know who he was talking about, and stopped to ask. “You’ve made my day by not knowing -----.” I smiled, what else was there to do? Everyone pets me one way or another for not knowing, but he was happy to know that someone in the world was preserved from any trivia about a boys’ band, a thing he was trying to forget, so he said.
Jewel plays from my computer as I write this. The memory of high school dance concerts is replaced by an appreciation for her pop songs of the day. I heard this song too many times as we practiced and practiced and practiced some more for the upcoming concert. I never payed due attention to her outside of a tune coming from my radio and the dance; and I like her, a little late, I suppose.
High school dance class was a class that I obsessed over in a way I never could or would over other parts of my life. No matter how alone I was in a class, I would could relax there up until entering the locker room to return to the world and my problems. I have never found an activity that could do that for me since, and I was sad when I finally had to quit dance after a dreadful semester with the cheerleaders.
