I'm frustrated.
Let me qualify that. I'm frustrated because I have writer's block. Not in the sense that I can't think of anything to write about, but because there's too much.
There seems to be an overload of topics, issues, observations, and experiences -a veritable glut of potential conversation fodder. I could prattle on about politicians' proclivities regarding balanced budgets, snarky debate comments, and toupees. I could expound on how "if I were elected, I'd..." is tired old speculation best reserved for the young who have yet to hear empty promises of lowered taxes, world peace, and global prosperity in our lifetime.
Then again, I could write an entire column about those nifty small shopping carts they have at Kroger -the ones which are the metaphorical equivalent to Smart cars -those nerdy little golf cart-looking commuters which look like something you'd actually enjoy slapping while feeling grumpy. I'd delve into how maneuverable they are, slaloming deftly around those Hummer-sized carts which were apparently designed to accommodate enough groceries to feed Houston. Heaven knows the thirty dollars' worth of groceries I cram into my polite little cart gives me a smug sense of satisfaction, especially when I see those bulky Hummer types slam into one another at the ends of the aisles. This is usually followed by the requisite "excuse me, didn't see you" and the bag of Doritos which comes dislodged from Gladys' cart and nearly takes out a stock clerk rotating cans of green beans.
One topic I've considered is what it's like sitting in the waiting room at the veterinarian's office, but since I don't have a pet I'd probably look kind of creepy sitting there with a pad and paper. "Nice St. Bernard. What's his name, and where are you going?" would make for an entirely discomfiting read. Even so, the potential for the chaos theory to unfold as Rugby the Boxer chased Fluffy the Persian cat around the room, creating special forces-level havoc and terrifying toy poodles could provide some rather satisfying afternoon news.
If I weren't worried about being perceived as a whiner (with my nasality, it's a given), I could talk about how my former upstairs neighbor threw a foot stool through her living room window at three in the morning, but since we all have our own problems to deal with, no one would want to read about that. But if I did bring it up, I'd expound on the broken glass still laying in my window well along with an entirely bizarre-looking toy frog which stares at me in utter disbelief whenever I open my blinds. (Apparently, she really needed to vent that night.)
An interesting thing to write about is my slow learning curve when it comes to exploring my Motorola Android Turbo. I'm pretty sure that I'm a poor student of the thing, taking into account that calling a friend who lives exactly 4.6 miles from me frequently leads to "international rates don't apply to your calling plan" being intoned from a computer in Verizon's basement in Passaic New Jersey.
In all, there's an entire universe of discussion points waiting to be discovered, explored, ablated, analyzed, and even laughed about. I intend to write about all of them. Either that, or I'm going to write about writing about them. Or would that be redundant considering the point of this article?
I'd better get started. The earth alone has exactly 3.7 trillion topics, not counting any life forms which may somehow be able to survive and hide in the Marianas Trench and my high school GPA.
This must be the way out.
Let me qualify that. I'm frustrated because I have writer's block. Not in the sense that I can't think of anything to write about, but because there's too much.
There seems to be an overload of topics, issues, observations, and experiences -a veritable glut of potential conversation fodder. I could prattle on about politicians' proclivities regarding balanced budgets, snarky debate comments, and toupees. I could expound on how "if I were elected, I'd..." is tired old speculation best reserved for the young who have yet to hear empty promises of lowered taxes, world peace, and global prosperity in our lifetime.
Then again, I could write an entire column about those nifty small shopping carts they have at Kroger -the ones which are the metaphorical equivalent to Smart cars -those nerdy little golf cart-looking commuters which look like something you'd actually enjoy slapping while feeling grumpy. I'd delve into how maneuverable they are, slaloming deftly around those Hummer-sized carts which were apparently designed to accommodate enough groceries to feed Houston. Heaven knows the thirty dollars' worth of groceries I cram into my polite little cart gives me a smug sense of satisfaction, especially when I see those bulky Hummer types slam into one another at the ends of the aisles. This is usually followed by the requisite "excuse me, didn't see you" and the bag of Doritos which comes dislodged from Gladys' cart and nearly takes out a stock clerk rotating cans of green beans.
One topic I've considered is what it's like sitting in the waiting room at the veterinarian's office, but since I don't have a pet I'd probably look kind of creepy sitting there with a pad and paper. "Nice St. Bernard. What's his name, and where are you going?" would make for an entirely discomfiting read. Even so, the potential for the chaos theory to unfold as Rugby the Boxer chased Fluffy the Persian cat around the room, creating special forces-level havoc and terrifying toy poodles could provide some rather satisfying afternoon news.
If I weren't worried about being perceived as a whiner (with my nasality, it's a given), I could talk about how my former upstairs neighbor threw a foot stool through her living room window at three in the morning, but since we all have our own problems to deal with, no one would want to read about that. But if I did bring it up, I'd expound on the broken glass still laying in my window well along with an entirely bizarre-looking toy frog which stares at me in utter disbelief whenever I open my blinds. (Apparently, she really needed to vent that night.)
An interesting thing to write about is my slow learning curve when it comes to exploring my Motorola Android Turbo. I'm pretty sure that I'm a poor student of the thing, taking into account that calling a friend who lives exactly 4.6 miles from me frequently leads to "international rates don't apply to your calling plan" being intoned from a computer in Verizon's basement in Passaic New Jersey.
In all, there's an entire universe of discussion points waiting to be discovered, explored, ablated, analyzed, and even laughed about. I intend to write about all of them. Either that, or I'm going to write about writing about them. Or would that be redundant considering the point of this article?
I'd better get started. The earth alone has exactly 3.7 trillion topics, not counting any life forms which may somehow be able to survive and hide in the Marianas Trench and my high school GPA.
This must be the way out.
No comments:
Post a Comment