My father will tell you I never stop talking and have an opinion about everything. That is mostly true, mostly. However, I have struggled lately with topics to expand this blog. I’ve started several pieces and easily bored with all them faster than I could end them.
The walk on the autism spectrum was a topic from the heart, but my son is my friend on social media so I was concerned he would anger publicizing our difficult stumbles.
Then it was a question, a real cry for understanding on why upon meeting, do people ask other people what they do for a living? It is intrusive. Lots of people define themselves by how they fit into the employment circle, and since most of us want to win the lottery so we don’t have to work, it seems crazy to start a conversation with a stranger about something that the odds are they either don’t care about, are embarrassed by, or really hate. How about finding out what they do when their time is free? I suspect the first question, which is usually answered in the way that most impresses the listener, has become a standard conversation-starter because our society values the perception of success over what drives our fellow humans to exist. Maybe the calamity in the White House will help reinforce those with “impressive” jobs are not always so impressive.
Then it was the annoyance of being controlled. Not by the government, don’t get me started, but by our pets. I will sit in my office, refusing to get up to pee until I finish a task, but when my cat meows for chicken, I am at the refrigerator door immediately. How can beings who are illiterate, potty outside, and lick their privates smack dab in the middle of the living room, so easily control humans? Humans are intelligent. And we have opposable thumbs for God’s sake!
And yet there was today’s subject, success and how we measure it. By the number on our paychecks or how we treat others, or yet by another measure I couldn’t think of. I had the whole blog written, in my head. But without a computer or pen nearby, it will never come to fruition. Maybe I should write about the fact that I can’t remember anything unless I write it down, but I think that has been done before.
So, I sit and remember what I have been taught over the years. If it sucks, don’t write about it. If it’s boring don’t write about it. If it is about religion, sex, or politics, don’t write about it. But, most of all, I remember that my son will see what I write. I forced him to friend/follow me on social media, making him my biggest checks and balances. So, I hope I haven’t embarrassed my kid by finding substance in being frustrated and thinking it doesn’t suck to admit it.