just like me

two posts in one day!  and three posts in one week.  mama would say that's just like me.  she wouldn't say it to my face, she'd be sighing about it talking to dad when I wasn't home.  or maybe she would say it to me, joking around, and then get sad, solemn, stop walking, look down:  "it'd be nice if you got serious about something."

I lose interest, burn out, move on, easily.  amazing that it took me so long to burn out as an emt but I don't think that had anything to do with the job.  it had to do with meeting the best friends of my life at crappy ambulance companies/major hospitals, not givin a shit where we worked and being thankful that at least we commanded some prestige.  and when sara and I "stopped talking" (i.e. had a fight that only two intense passionate intelligent women can be dumb enough to have and throw their friendship away over) that's when I lost all interest in the medical field.  my interest wasn't truly even in the medical field, it was in doing something I loved with people I loved.  I suppose that's what all real interests are!  I suppose that's why 2/3 of americans dislike their jobs.

I started this blog because I type about 19 times faster than I write.  I used to keep journals all the time and would sometimes flash pages of them to friends later in life, to show them my handwriting.  they'd always make a grab at the page and say "whoa!  cool handwriting!"  it's not that cool, just small and neat.  in middle school and high school I started writing slowly and painstakingly.  it seemed an elegant change from my scribbled "diaries" of the past, and my new handwriting went well with the emotional purple prose that poured from my sad hands.  oh high school!  nowadays I just don't have time to sit down for two hours to lovingly craft five pages of life's recent events.  I also figured having a public blog would introduce me to other great sites and people (the internet gets really boring when you don't know where to go).

now the public part, however, is beginning to bother me.  I remember one night I was off work and after not having written in a journal for years, I practically forced myself to spend a few minutes chronicling something.  I wrote about grandma and how she'd just died and how death was weird and I missed her but knew she was better off.  it was the dumbest, most awful thing I've ever written.  I think I might have torn the page out and thrown it, I'm not sure.  I felt like I was writing for someone, like someone would be reading and judging for feedback what were supposed to be innermost thoughts and all that.  and keeping a blog on a public website (I even checked yes to the list-your-blog setting!), though I'm sure all of 7 random people are gonna wander up on it, that's almost close to someone reading and judging for feedback.

I either have to get over it, or write a weird stilted blog about nothing really meaningful, that's the alternative.  after all, why am I keeping a blog/journal/diary? not to list sewing patterns or nutrition tips or even because I have a friends following.  because someday years from now I hope I'm glad I wrote to myself and of myself.  it'll be a nice gift.

if I keep it up.  I think I will.  it is like me to lose interest fast and even grow irritated at the thought of doing something because I "should."  but I've gained a lot of humility this year.  not as much as I hope to, maybe, but hopefully enough so that when I have something to say or admit or rejoice in I can write it here.  not worrying about judgment.  and not judging myself.