They always say, "write about what you know." What do I know? I know my life. But my life has to be boring to other people. Nothing interesting happens. Any insights I gain are gone the second after I realize them-- my brain is too active and too forgetful. (See, I lost my train of thought right then too.) I can write about what goes on in my head. How does an introverted, quiet, emotional person like me end up with so many stories playing out in my brain at once and yet find myself completely unable to get them out? At least out entirely. Bits and pieces spill out all the time.
Today I'm thinking about my new fence. And I'm thinking about the shoes I ordered not showing up yet, and I'm thinking about how my coworker may have just won a sweepstakes (seriously) and about how I say seriously entirely too much now and I blame that on Grey's Anatomy. And about how I'm a different person every day, that when yesterday or last week or last year plays out in my head, I see myself from the outside, from a third person perspective, like I'm watching myself do things that I actually did. Do other people do this? It makes me feel like I was never actually myself except in this very moment. Otherwise I live in the air somewhere above and behind my head. I have pretty hair.
I had a point to this post, but I've long ago lost it.
There were some pretty birds on my bird feeder this morning. I'm kind of scared of birds, but I enjoy watching them from the safety of my breakfast room window. There was a Carolina Chickadee, cute bandit-masked little birds that always come in pairs or threes and hop around on my deck like happy little puffs of feathers.
And there was a Tufted Titmouse, which are my favorite and not just because of their name. Grey clingers, with a funny grey crest (or tuft) on the top of their heads, they attach themselves sideways to the feeder pole and quickly dart their heads back and forth, shaking the tuft all around.
There was a new one today. I couldn't tell if it was a Pine Warbler or a Goldfinch with its duller winter plumage. It ate its fill, sitting in one spot on the feeder for at least ten minutes, nibbling and pecking away. This is a goldfinch in winter.
I can't wait for spring, when we get even brighter birds among the titmice and chickadees, like Summer Tanagers and Bluebirds. Yesterday was 75 outside, today is 45. February is hard, like living on the cusp of happiness.
Oh scarlet (is it okay if I call you that?) - we ARE so alike. I can't keep up with my brain sometimes. I used to try writing all the great ideas down, but it was hard to keep up and then I'd have all these notes but not enough time to do something with them *chuckle*
ReplyDeleteI've been lamenting the last week that my life is boring too - living in a suburb of Detroit, not a real exciting place *laugh*
I want to tell you that you ARE a writer. You are doing it here. Just keep doing it. I value reading your ideas, thoughts, rants and how you see things.
I love birds - love your descriptions and the pix. Oh to see a real bluebird. You mentioned you are scared of birds. May I ask why? That intrigues me. I love animals (easy for me to be close to them) and have been known to converse with chickadees, cardinals. Bird talk, you know *laugh*
Thanks for reminding me that we are different every day and when looking back we see how we were. Change is so gradual we forget to notice sometimes!
And one more thing - I find it interesting that your blog is name scarlethue and I selected red silk streams - both leaning to red, a vibrant, noticeable color. Hmmmm!!