| Encompassed with an ever-encroaching case of quarantine brain, I have been spending an inordinate amount of time trolling the internet looking for topic ideas, as my goal is to keep you reasonably happy and under control so we can get on with things. I found one article entitled, “7 Ways to Come Up With Ideas When You Have Nothing to Write About”, but so far all I have come up with is the best ear medication for parakeets, the 1997 tooth whitening epidemic, and the lucrative business of selling snake carcasses. None of which, I am guessing, is of much help. Like E.B. White said, it’s like dissecting a frog: few people are interested and the frog dies of it. |
| Even if I never come up with anything more stimulating than finding out who holds the world record for the most sticky notes stuck on the body in 30 seconds, I do fall asleep every night feeling my writing is making more of a difference in the world than it ever would by selling hats to iguanas or knitting wool socks for snails. Because when you’re on to something good, why not punish more? After all, I do want to make my feelings known – and people uncomfortable. |
| Many say writing is a solitary journey, but I feel it really should be a public performance art done before an audience of as many people as will tolerate it. It’s difficult explaining exactly what I’m doing with my life right now, other than having strangers deliver light fixtures to sites, source king sheets online, and triple explain why there is funny coloured dust on the new countertop via FaceTime. Nevertheless, I want to talk to you about my current perplexing situation, other than where I should put the pizza box because it doesn’t fit in the fridge. Here is it. I have received militant accusations of being gossipy and a somewhat inaccurate author. |
| My immediate reaction was to give up my citizenship and move to Moldova (when and if they ever let us out of the house). Then I quickly realized that to do that, I would have slower internet and have to spend the rest of my life whittling spoons by a fire. And you know I hate to operate anything more mechanical than a safety pin. Besides, I heard that in Moldava, the local hangover cure is pickle juice. Not interested. But upon further research, I discovered that Moldava’s largest and most revered holiday is National Wine Day and that they want to implement something new – moderate wine consumption. On further thought, this may be my kind of country. |
| But back to my problem.Regardless of what some litigiousness critics say, I am deeply hurt by these charges. |
| Because first, as Anne Lamont quipped, if you would have behaved better, I would have spoken more warmly about you and secondly, who of you really knows how to use an ampersand?Still there? Good. I surmise that even at the best of times most people are incapable of distinguishing between last week and the extinction of dinosaurs, never mind comprehending the fact that I wasn’t born in 1607, it isn’t January 74th, or believing all the stuff that happened to me a few years back when I got kind of turned around geographically – okay, lost. Because there are some thatare a few eggs short of a full breakfast, which amplifies the effectiveness of relating the business of resonant, weird, unimportant, and milquetoast ideas (mine) that are unlikely to be found anywhere else. It’s not like I fail to relate to others and misread social cues, because really, I’m pretty sure that I’m more than a smidge above average. |
| So I have decided that no matter how off-putting and altogether false these allegations are, I will continue to abide by the secret of all life skills – telling people what they should do. “But you pretty much wrote about nothing.”, to which I say, “PRECISELY”. Please accept my thanks in lieu of monetary gifts and have a vegan dark chocolate tonight. |
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