It constantly amuses me that, throughout the lifetime of this blog, the two pages that seem to get the most hits are this and this. People get there through ill-thought-out Google searches. I keep wanting to set out a disclaimer at the top of the first one saying: "Really, people. You need to find a better site to check out Wilfrid Owen's poetry. Or try a library." As for the second... well, I'm pleased. I'm sure the story of Harry Burn was not what these guys were looking for (and I have a suspicion most of those who get to the page by Googling "little-known heroes" are working on school papers) but I am more than happy to tell people about him.
Note to kid: there is a correlation between you staying up all hours to talk to your would-be-girlfriend on Facebook and you oversleeping and missing the bus in the morning. Since you seem to have trouble with this concept, we'll reinforce it: you get no Net access on days you've missed the bus. Simple?
I missed some of my favorite movies quotes the other night, I realized later, but only one of them was enough of an omission that I feel compelled to mention it: "There's a fine line between clever and stupid." (Spinal Tap.) I do in fact say this frequently.
I am not employed... but I am working. Sort of. I volunteer at an amazing agency that helps provide grief and bereavement counseling for people following the death of a loved one. It's a few hours a week, and I take it seriously. They can't afford to give me a job, although they love my work, and at some point I really do need another full-time or significant part-time position. Until I have to give it up --- i.e., when I actually get a paying job -- I'll be there, if they'll have me. Having work that matters in the world is more important to me than how much I get paid for it. If only I could explain that to the bank that holds the mortgage....
A friend last week over coffee asked, smiling, "So, how are you going to get a writing job?" Um... I don't know? I had just finished explaining that on vocational assessments the careers of "Author" and "Columnist" come up with alarming regularity. Given that it's really hard these days to get paid to produce the written word, I've pretty much given up on doing anything in that field. But her query made me think -- maybe I've given up too soon or too easily. Food for thought, certainly. Maybe I am getting old enough that I should stop fretting about what I am going to do when I grow up and simply do it.
Speaking of age, yesterday, following a discussion in which I mentioned that there were people to whom I wanted to say "Oh, you're a baaaaby.... you're not even forty yet!", one of the people I was talking to said "You're not forty yet, either, though, are you?" Hee hee. Made my week. Even if I did simply think that she was very, very bad at estimating ages. (No, I am not going to tell you exactly how old I am, other than "over forty.") Thanks for the great genes, Mom.
Speaking of writing, NaNoWriMo begins November 1. I have not decided whether I am going to participate. Unlike the only other time I did NaNoWriMo, I have no idea for a plot. Writing about my life might be less than dramatic -- or not, as the case may be. The last time, I wrote a book so nakedly about my own life (a roman à clef on steroids) that I was afraid to have anyone in my family or circle of friends read it, for fear that they would stop talking to either a) me or b) the individuals on whom other characters in the story were modeled. (It was close enough to my own life that at a party I called a woman in my extended social circle "Barb," which was the name she had had in the book. "Who's Barb?" the woman asked, confusedly.) It was also, not to put too fine a gloss on it, simply godawful. Really, really, painfully bad. But an amazing amount of fun to write.
And can't all of us use more fun in our lives?
No comments:
Post a Comment