If I Had A Hammer

It's not that I don't want to write my blog. I do. I think of things every day that I want to go type/write down and share with folks.

Like how the only part of driving the ol' Jeep (car switch every afternoon for car seat purposes) that I like is the shifting. I particularly like second into third because it's my best shift. First into second is just a bit choppy. Third into fourth hardly happens on the seven minute drive down back and frontage roads. It's second into third for me. And I challenge myself on making it as smooth and seamless as possible. Some people like to feel like they're in a race car. I have to feel as if I'm beating somebody - or everybody - at my own game.

Or how I owe so many letters, cards and baby presents that are piling up on my desk and yet can never seem to make it to the post office. Which is three blocks down the street and to the left.

Or how I should really change the location section of my profile so people don't think I still live in Maine. But that requires more typing than I usually like to do.

Or how the prices at the Wal-Mart Pharmacy aren't necessarily low enough to make the incredibly bad service bearable.

Or how my son is the coolest kid in the entire universe.

Or how I really find my cousin's way of looking at things quite interesting. So often, we are in the same book, same chapter, different sides of the page. We can think the same thing, but getting there is completely different. After one of those deep discussions we seem to fall into (which really is what having a close relative like a good sibling or even better cousin is all about - someone where the comfort factor tends to run to the long-winded and sometimes companionably silent. Not that we've ever been silent about anything.), I find myself honing my own thought processes based on information she's shared with me. She makes me think. I like that. I like her. I respect her. I hope she's reading this. I know she is. I'll never admit it verbally.

I could also do an entire blog on how spring in Minnesota is heralded by my ability to see over the snowplow piles while making turns at important intersections.

Or how watching my young cousin perform in his high school musical (Beauty and the Beast. He played D'Arque - pronounced Dark - and was fantastic. Small part, big impression. The kid can sing and he's got stage presence. Definitely one of us.) has kindled a flame under a fire I thought was burning out. How much I missed performing, I don't think I realized. Not just a concert here and there. But out and out performing. I miss auditioning. That's my weak point, I fear, and yet I love it. I thrive on the energy, the adrenaline and the not knowing. I love watching my own competitive spirit blossom while preparing (competitive? Me? Nah.). I love the whole process of rehearsals. Well, maybe not blocking. And it's certainly harder when you're not surrounded by people of the same ilk. But I love the rehearsal process. The research. The subtext. The immersion. Throw in a dialect and a physical tic or deformity and I'm in high heaven. And wondering how long I'll convince myself it's really okay for me not to be back on stage or back in commercials and voice overs.

And, of course, there's the whole Britney Spears thing.

And the 'rehab is fashionable' thing.

And the constant relapses of Lindsay Lohan. Yeah, must suck to have all that pressure of barely doing anything for huge sums of money and a seriously enabling mom.

I could blog. But most of the time, I'd just rather eat and sleep. And keep thinking about all the things I could write about.