Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Come on, be serious, Andy.

I have been putting off a task that I shouldn't be putting off. I have a serious blog inside me, I swear, but I just don't seem to want to let it out. After all, isn't a "serious blog" an oxymoron? It is a contradiction in terms if ever I saw one. Given, I have a tendency to bend a few too many things into some sort of joke. Without laughter there's just... a space that I have little interest exploring. I have trouble craving anything without a smirk. It's not that I can't take anything seriously. I can and I do. Its just... Even now I can feel my own interest waning. Why analyze it at all? The point is, I feel like a toolbox trying to put any deep, dark thoughts into the form of 'blog'.
However...
I have a serious blog inside me, and I know it. It's a great big serious blog with feelings and emotions and blah, blah, blah. I had a life adventure recently and I'm scared I will forget it. It seems to me the only way to make sure I remember it is to talk about it or write about it. The problem is, whenever I start to talk about it, my voice cracks and I no longer want to be wherever I am. I skirt around the issue, diminishing its importance to me and look to move on as quickly as possible. Writing about it is not out of the question. Perhaps a journal entry or something? But there are people I want to know about this. I want to share this and I am not a strong sharer. In fact, in almost every way, I'm a fairly terrible sharer. I just want to lay it down and see what happens, but when I think of someone reading about it, reading about anything serious I may have typed onto an internet page, it makes me cringe. Maybe I'm too old? Maybe I feel like a fourteen year old girl scribbling poetry into my goth-y blog... 




"Oh assblankets!" I exclaimed in frustration. I just want to write a story about my experience taking care of my grandfather in his last days, but I haven't mustered the mustard. It's been over a month and I'm sure there are already details that have slipped through the disturbingly large cracks in my brain, never to be seen or heard from again. That's what I want to avoid. I want to type the details out so that I can look back at something I did that was actually good. I don't do so many good things in my life and I don't want to dismiss it the way I dismiss anything I fear can be later viewed as pretentious. I want to talk about the fears I had while by my grandfather's side. I want to talk about the awkwardly humorous moments, the experience of sitting with a man floating toward death who had accomplished so many things in life, traveled the world, survived a concentration camp, sang in a world renowned choir, been a surgeon in a community that embraced him as a celebrity... 
I haven't spoken much to anyone about my father and he's almost two years gone and now I can feel myself not wanting to share anything about my grandfather. It's as though--
Wait a minute! Is this blog a bit on the serious side all of a sudden? Did I ramble and rumble my way into a serious blog? Is that how the transition is made? Am I a goth-emo kid now? Do I want everyone around me to know how sad I am? I feel dirty. Filthy and dirty. And not in the sexy way.

1 comment:

bocker1977 said...

your dad passed away? i don't think i knew that. you are terrible at sharing. but, the way i see it, the less i know about your sorry ass, the more of you i can like and admire. way to cop out there on the serious front with your comical self realization. just remember, you are npt too dumb or ugly, so you know, go with it. i will now compose a gothy poem and get all emo at my own "blog" whic i have been sadly neglecting.

Times in Important Places