Tick, tick, tick...
Maybe plop, plop, plop...
What sound does a grain of sand make as it falls through the metaphoric hourglass of life? Heck if I know. In any case, the big allegory relating how another week of my life has passed is useless now. It was likely beyond my power and writing skill anyway. Besides, that soap opera did the whole "Like sands through the hourglass" thing already, so why compound things with an obvious lack of originality?
Once upon a time I was a better-than-average writer. That in no way suggests I was a good writer, just not horrifically bad, if you get my drift. Business writing, emails, and lack of practice eroded my limited abilities further.
One of the reasons I started this here blog o'rama was to work on my writing craft. Hah! I have come to accept that no matter how hard I try I can no more write the Great American Novel than I can carve a credible likeness of General George H. Thomas from a giant block of butter. I am good with that. And no, this is not some thinly-disguised plea for applause and laudatory comments. As Clint said so succinctly, "a man's gotta know his limitations".
I remain a just above average wordsmith. I give myself that C+ because I have read stuff composed by other people. I have colleagues who cannot pen a coherent email about a quality reject for a dimension out of tolerance.
On an occasional narcissistic bender I go back and read a few of the 6,000 plus posts I have thrown into the Ethernet. A few are quality efforts. Some are incoherent gobbledygook. Most are mediocre haphazard collections of bad syntax and poor proof reading. Many are mere navel-gazing self-aggrandizing word turds like this post. Consider this just another in a very long list of wordy, pointless, shallow Saturday essays.
That's me: Joe Average. I'm smarter than the average bear, but I lack true intellectual / genius brainpower. I write better than your typical teen twitter addict, but I'm no "insert your favorite writer/ blogger". I'm occasionally amusing but not funny. I cook basic comfort foods with skill, but I am no chef or even gourmand. My parents were quite accurate when they named me Joe. And you know what? I am quite comfortable with my decided lack of exceptional talents. I know, you too.
I have quipped before that I would have been voted Most Forgettable in school had anyone remembered who I was. I can comfortably say not much has changed.
I think I'll go fry up a couple of eggs. Happy Saturday.
2 comments:
You're so much like many of us, it makes you relatable.
Not a bad thing.
I would love to see a butter monument of Gen. George H. Thomas. If Big Butter Jesus was still in existence, there could be an entire museum of butter monuments built around it.
(Yeah, I'm tired, it's nearly bourbon o'clock, and I don't care.)
Post a Comment