Weird writing

For some people, if a thought occurs to them, it immediately comes out their mouth. Granted, that has happened to me. On occasion. Okay, lots of occasions. It's what I refer to as my verbal diarrhea, which often leads to over-sharing and talking about things no one cares about in the first place.

Babble much?

But the point is that this free expression of thought often takes another form for me. Writing. It's no surprise that I joined the cyberuniverse of bloggers. As the title says, it's my diary. It's not a locked diary like teenage girls have, and anyone can read it. The only "lock"it has is the anonymity. Only a couple of people know my True Identity. So, I can discuss those things that would shock the people who see me every day. Heck, if they knew half the things that were really bouncing around in my head....well, it's better if they just don't know.

I'm a little touched. I know it. And I don't mind too much. Old BF called me "delightfully peculiar." I quite like that. He "got" me, which isn't easy. Too bad he had to be such a fuckwit.

This blog reveals a bit of my obsessive nature. I write about the things that stick in my head. Once I write them, it's like I've put them in a safer place where I can revisit them, but I don't have to keep it in the forefront of my noggin anymore. My noggin is not a secure place to keep things....

But this isn't the only place I write. I write crap all the time. Real crap and made up crap. I've even written a novel and a half of made up crap, and dozens of short-story made-up crap. Probably about a thousand pages of made up crap. No kidding. About 400+ pages of it was nearly published in 1995. I need to get back on that...come to think of it....

I can't begin to count the pages of non-made-up crap I've written. That's where the writing all the stinkin' time comes in. If I'm bored in a meeting, I start writing. Makes me look diligent, don't you know. I look like I'm taking copious notes, as long as I remember to perform a few well-timed nods and thoughtful looks at the speaker. Make eye contact, poise my pen by my mouth, furrow my brow, say "Hmm"....and write some more. I even write when I can't actually write. I have a running narrative in my head.

You know, I might want to sort through my notebooks at work. If a plane crashed into my house and someone had to go through my office, the sometimes-emotional ramblings in my meeting notes would be a shock, indeed. "We had a crazy woman in our midst. Who knew?"

Well, it's academia....they might be accustomed.... Maybe they'd publish them!