Monday, December 9, 2013

Happily Behaving Blogs Don't Make History

I've sort of been at a loss recently about the blog. It's like my brain has skipped town and left me idling on autopilot. I completely lack the capacity for creative thinking.

Maybe my problem is that I've been reading too many books (if there were such a thing as too many books, which there isn't). I've been devouring books. And I've been loving it. I'm so wrapped up in fiction that I don't have time for my own neuroses. Just time for books.

Maybe the sticking point is that I feel unnaturally calm and relaxed. When I am this peaceful, I swear I have nothing to write about because it's all rainbows and snowflakes and unicorns. When the conflict is gone, what is there to say? Isn't this the crux of novels? Of all writing?

Nobody wants to hear a saccharin love letter to how great one's life is. And if they do, there are plenty of blogs out there which would serve that purpose nicely. We want reality, right peeps? We want honest and funny and interesting. And we only want it whenever we demand it, instantaneously. Is it too much to ask? Srsly.

So here is a bit of reality. Yesterday morning, Jack's pre-church tally of mischief included:
1. Peeing on the couch.
2. Squirting craft paint into the heat vent.
3. Smearing glitter paint onto an armchair.
4. Tossing the TV remote off the deck and into the undisturbed snow field which was the backyard.
5. Shredding some Doritos packaging and cramming it into the slats above and below the fireplace.
6. Changing outfits five times.

And yet, I feel like I am swimming in a pool of bliss. I have no idea why. Often, when Jack goes rampaging, I can find the humor in it and laugh it off. Occasionally, I want to tie a bandana filled with  Dino nuggets and Cheetos onto a hobo stick and hand it Jack as I send him off to find a new house to dismantle.

Something great happened after church on Sunday, and ever since then I've felt like the old guy in Up when he kicks his house loose from it's footings and lets fly the balloons that carry his house to Paradise Falls.

We had a little conversation with someone which left Jeff and I shaking our heads in happy, stunned amazement. It was something unexpected and simple and refreshing. After this brief exchange, I felt like a giant, heavy backpack on my shoulders had poof! just disappeared.

I'm intentionally being vague, and I'm sorry.

Just know that I feel a little like a painted Victorian attached to a balloon bouquet, sailing over the tops of things.

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