Why The Heck Do You Blog? I Mean REALLY?

I am unstable.

I come from California. I haven't seen many happy cows. Mostly I see them all crowded together and standing on Kilimanjaro size piles of poop. But it's also known as the land of fruits and nuts out here. That I can concur with. I fit right in.

Do you ever find yourself wondering, "What is the MATTER with that idiot?" when encountering someone who does something really stupid or makes absolutely no sense? And then you realize you're having enough trouble just analyzing your own internal landscape? So, how could there possibly be any hope for figuring out another person's issues? And then you go on a long tirade of trying to figure out why you ever did anything you did? And then you give up and eat ice-cream?

Well, I ask myself 13 times a day, "Why do you blog, Robynn?" and I answer with 23 different responses. Because I'm not all there. And I don't do the right ratios in the question-to-answer department. Math was never my best subject.

Lunch and boys were my best subject.

I had the biggest crush on Mike Karastathis when I was in the 5th grade. He was this cute Greek boy. I think he knew I was alive but I'm not sure he cared why. However, Galen (or something like that I can't recall due to extreme horror) knew why. It was so he could fawn over me and gaze at me on his 18th trip to the pencil sharpener. Him and his three teeth and his butch haircut. And his loud personality. And his "won't take no for an answer" pesky ways of following me around and declaring his love for me on an every-minute basis.

I don't write the blog for him.

Where the heck was I? What am I talking about?

On any given moment during the day I will give one of the following answers as to why I blog:

I love to write.

I love to make people laugh.

I love to make people feel.

Because people seem to like it.

Wait, there are only 2 comments. No one seems to like it.

I'm desperate.

I'm the scribe of the family writing down the good, the bad, and the utterly repulsive.

It's for my kids.

Maybe I'll make money someday. It's the beginning of a business.

It's been 3 months and you've made $7.48, Robynn. You're a mogul. Or a mongrel. Give up.

I'll put all these stories together one day and shove 'em in a book.

I love to stay connected with people.

It gives me happy motivation.

It gives me stress....I'll never write anything entertaining again. What was I thinking.

I'm building a writing discipline. Good writers write regularly.

I write for the naysayers. Those who hint to me that I must have a LOT of time on my hands.

I write for the yaysayers. Those who make me feel I have added something to their lives.

I like to share how I'm a mere mortal, stumbling and falling my way forward.

Because I like to connect with people and we connect with people in our humanity, our mistakes, and our weaknesses. Those who are reluctant, or loathe, to reveal their weaknesses can make you feel "less than." Perfectionism isn't that attracting. And we don't really believe it anyway, just so you know, you perfectionists you.

I am a perfectionist. I'm trying to be a good-enoughist. I am in conflict with myself. Where was I? Oh yeah.

Because maybe someone will see that without God's grace in my life, I wouldn't be here.

Maybe someone will realize their need for God's grace in their life and grasp that hope.

I love to write. Did I say that?

If you love to do something and you do it, is it automatically a weakness?

Do you see my struggle with paralysis of analysis?

I am unstable.

So, why do YOU write? I would REALLY love to know. Would you tell me? Then I can obsess about your reasons, too.

Copyright 2009

Typing Type

Did you know you might have a typing style? Neither did I.

During a highly scientific research project I didn't know was taking place, my husband and daughter informed me I type in very different ways. They made this announcement public yesterday at an informal press conference. It was all news to me. No one listens when I talk but they pay attention to my typing? Why aren't I writing them letters? Loudly?

Apparently, I sometimes type 700 miles an hour (or Mach 1) pounding out each word so hard and fast I can be heard as far away as Paris. Frankly, I am incredulous. If I yell my loudest that the dishes have not been done yet, absolutely no one in the whole house, in any location, can hear me at all.

At other times, I am told, my typing is tentative, quiet....a staccato ritardando (I am not swayed by this fancy-schmancy vernacular - anything with the word "retard" in it is an insult).

Well, I can explain these two phenomenons easily and there was no research necessary.

First of all, if I get an idea I have to type really really really really fast before it leaves my head because then I would.............I would..........I would.........I'll get back to this.

The quiet parts are me editing the loud parts. Or searching the data banks for something fresh. Do you ever feel like you only have a 100 word vocabulary and you just keep recycling them in different ways? Okay, you're right. 100 words is hyperbole. I'm stuck at 50. (Koko the gorilla knows 1000 sign language words. Where is she when I need her?)

But there you have it. If you're a writer, a blogger, an emailer, or someone with an extremely boring life, listen to yourself type next time. Or have someone else listen. When you're done, look over and ask them what they perceived. They will most likely be in a coma. Take this opportunity to vigorously and loudly recount to them all the chores you want done. They won't hear this either.

Copyright 2009