Blog Day

I read on Twitter that this is International Blog Day, or something of that nature. Maybe I got the date wrong.

But I don't read too many blogs these days. I'm mostly reading Twitter.

I really enjoy this Twitter feed. One of my favorite posts: "You know, sometimes it's nice having you around. But now ain't one of those times. Now gimmie the remote we're not watching this bullshit."

The guy who tweets this stuff seems to be enjoying himself too.

writing

I have no stamina for writing. I stop as soon as a thought is half-formed. Once I only saw in other people's success my own failure. But I don't feel the need to compare myself to someone today. A certain degree of acceptance goes a long way. I was the way I was, I am the way I am, though I believe I can change. It's a practice, like many in my life (prayer, meditation, yogurt.)

"I had hardly begun to read
I asked how can you ever be sure
that what you write is really
any good at all and he said you can't
you can't you can never be sure
you die without knowing
whether anything you wrote was any good
if you have to be sure don't write"
— W.S. Merwin

Update (8/27/09): Guess I need this.

Road rage

I spend a lot of time in the car: travelling to work, schlepping kids, running errands (errants). I used to accelerate and then brake really hard. I'd get upset at someone making a difficult turn in front of me or when traffic wouldn't move at the pace I expected. Today it's different, and I'm not sure what happened. I leave more time to travel and get somewhere even a little early. I drive in the right lane unless I'm going to pass. What used to really frost me was when I would let someone in or let someone cross in front of me and they would not acknowledge me. "You're welcome, bitch," I'd say out of earshot. Today I realize that nobody owes me anything and that I needn't expect acknowledgement or recognition. Just let the other person go, make room, anticipate crosswalks or other cars entering traffic. And slow down, relax and try to be conscious- of my breath, of what I see and hear, what's around me.

Happy where I am

Tick Happy Where He Is.

Me too (though I don't suck blood or excrete spirochetes.)

Blocked from following

I tried to re-follow someone on Twitter and found out that I had been blocked at the user's request. Maybe it's because I sent a creepy direct message "I like your new picture." I'd sent this person a lot of medical links which I supposed were of interest. Maybe I was a creep, and I sent an apologetic e-mail and that will probably be that. It's not personal if someone doesn't follow me or drops me on Facebook. It's the other person's decision. I've found Facebook good for reconnecting with folks from my past, but beyond that, it's not much. Oh sure, I follow what they're posting, but can scarcely have a conversation with any. It is what it is. If somebody doesn't call me or return my call or e-mail, I call somebody else. "the only way to have a friend is to be one."

Update (8/21/09): Got some spam from a Twitter person. Maybe someone hijacked his account, and maybe someone hijacked mine. I won't know.

Update 2 (8/21/09): "What someone else thinks of me is none of my business."

How-to

Via Beyond the Black Stump, How to Stop Taking Things Personally. Guess that obviates my little blog. ;)

good essay

Lisa pointed me to an excellent essay written by Laura A. Munson in the New York Times. Her husband tells her he's going to leave her, and she shows great fortitude realizing that it's not about her, it's about him. She writes: "Although it may sound ridiculous to say “Don’t take it personally” when your husband tells you he no longer loves you, sometimes that’s exactly what you have to do." She keeps the family together in spite of her husband. And that's a thing I've not been able to learn throughout my life, that it usually isn't about me and that I'm not responsible for someone else's feelings, or that I can't make someone feel a certain way. Happiness comes from within, Munson tells us, and relationships may enhance life but they are not the end of it.