The Pressure To Blog
I suspect that I am different from many bloggers in that I like feeling pressured to blog. I like knowing that I have so much swirling around in my head I could write 50,000 words a day.
That is not an exaggeration nor bragging. I don’t mean for you to read it that way at all. It is not a competition, it is just me sharing part of me.
Writing soothes my soul and clears the cobwebs from my head and believe me that place is a junkyard that is stuffed full of all sorts of Â things.
Some of them might actually be golden nuggets and some might be bright and shiny pieces of trash. Hard to say, writing is subjective.
Haven’t participated in Just Write forever so I figured it is a good time to do so again. Blake Shelton is singing God Gave Me You and there is a smile on my face that only one person will understand.
Such a weird feeling inside right now, so many different things coming at me at rapid speed. So I shift between them all and share what I will on this page.
Maybe it will make sense to you and maybe it won’t. I am not here for the accolades, the chicks or the money, I am here because if I don’t write my head will explode into a million pieces.
Bet some people might like to see that but I am going to disappoint them all by living to be 139.
Speaking of living I have a son who is going to be turning 13 this month. 13, WTF happened?
Hell I know what happened and it is just hard to digest.
Last night he and I listened to Johnny Cash’s cover of Hurt and then we watched a clip from Hangover III of Mr. Chow singing it. I had intended to use that as a springboard to start singing along.
I figured that my son would say I sound horrible and ask me to stop and then I’d compare myself to Chow. It was a great plan until one of the characters said “What the fuck” and I shut that clip down.
I have been known to swear like a sailor and I know for certain that I am responsible for my kids vocabulary expanding. Not totally upset by that, it has made for great teaching moments and I have impressed upon them the importance of time and place.
Moments after I shut down the clip I looked as the boy sitting next to me and told him I remembered seeing him come into the world.
Told him that I was in the room and that he was a bloody mess.
Wasn’t trying to mess with or upset him. I was just sharing a moment and was semi amazed by how big he is now and the knowledge that he is more than halfway to college.
He looks up at me and asks if all fathers are allowed in the delivery room and I say it is not uncommon now. He asks if grandpa was there to see me and I tell him he wasn’t because I was a C-section.
“Dude, that sucks for grandma.”
I tell him that grandma didn’t mind it at all. Not sure that is entirely true but most mothers I know are pretty happy about being mothers and I know mine loves me.
The conversation continues and I say he is lucky that he wasn’t covered in crap when he came out. His eyes get wide and he says, “did mom poop me out?”
I can’t help myself and I say she didn’t but there is a reason why some people are called “shitheads’ and we laugh hysterically. It is dumb but really funny.
And then I make sure he knows how childbirth works, on a basic level that is. He confirms he does and then I tell him I am proud of him and happy he is not a “shithead” and we crack up again.
Got more stories to put on paper and no more time to write now. Might get back out here after dinner, but I can’t say for certain. Got way too much to do.
And yet I am anxious to get back because I feel time ticking and I have this sense of racing the moon to reach the sunrise. So I’ll end this post here and promise to come back as soon as I can.
Got that pressure to blog and I will answer the call.