It’s not just on this blog. It’s in my day to day life. And it’s never happened before. And I don’t like it.
I’ve always found myself to be an interesting person. I have no problems finding friends, which is surprising when you consider the arrogance of that last sentence. But it’s true. I enjoy my company. I have a pretty decent set of social skills. I like to listen as much as I like to talk.
And for the first time in my life I find myself coming up short with things to say.
I don’t know if this phenomenon can be contributed to confidence (I have my doubts - I still think I'm pretty awesome), or routine, or weariness of hearing myself rant about the same issues over and over. Perhaps it’s because I’m actually challenged and satisfied in my daily activities from 9-5 and it’s using up all my available brain cells. Maybe it’s because my personal life is stable, with the hazy Vaseline-smear of the first year of marriage making everyday life appear soft-focus. Maybe it’s because I took a personal pledge to try to stop whining about things my husband does that drive me kind of crazy when he became my husband, because I had a choice. I could have chosen to not marry the man who gets incredible satisfaction from what appears to be his only hobby, which is spending 6 months of his life reorganizing media files on his computer.
But then I’d be single, with a hugely disorganized music collection, and where’s the benefit in that?
I lamented this notion, that I have nothing of interest to contribute to a conversation, to my friend Amanda, and she passionately told me that I need to fix this. I need to do things. DO THINGS, she said. Amanda has two kids under the age of two and I’m pretty sure it took all her resolve not to punch me in the face because while I know she wouldn’t trade those kids for anything, she sure would like to go see The Hobbit/any movie, ever/except maybe Paranormal Activity Part 37 in the theatre on a whim on an average Monday night.
I see how I take my DINKy freedom for granted. I should be doing things with my free time, while I still have free time. I should write that freaking novel. I could spend my evenings in the pub playing name that tune or taking continuing ed classes or doing things that aren’t watching 5 seasons of Hot Aussie Drama Sea Patrol like my life depends on it.
Maybe I’d have more to talk about if I did. I’m sure I would. Any suggestions? (I guess I could go on about how