I really mean that.
But that's not what I'm here to write about. Sorry. Actually, I think it sums itself up just fine. No elaboration necessary. And, anyway -don't expect titles to sync up with blog content. Not in my universe. I live in the moment. And the only constant around here is change, Grasshopper.
I also don't want dogs. I was given a book for Christmas with some kind of title about how my third husband should be a dog, and my first thought was - that was my first husband and I don't plan on having a second one, let alone a third, so should I use this thing as a doorstop or donate it to Goodwill immediately? But then my natural good nature kicked in and I thanked the bookgivers (who are lovely, lovely people and great friends who love dogs and have way too many of them) sincerely, warm hugs and all.
I am currently trying to read said book, but cannot relate to wanting to mouth kiss a corgi and 3 golden retrievers, not even in my Unbridled Imagination.
The question becomes then: What do I Want?
Let us not confuse "Want" with Crave or Desire or Lust. Those are Emotional and likely driven by Neurosis. I crave chocolate and champagne (Mood Management), I desire a Library the size of Buckingham Palace and a Closet full of Haute Couture to match (books & beauty....yes, I would be the Most Gorgeous & Knowledgeable Librarian in the World!!!), I lust after....Johnny Depp & one Secret Author none of you have ever heard of, but you may one day, but that's MY secret and I don't plan on sharing it right now, but you never know.....I might throw out some hints along the way.
A blog has to have some Mystery. Mine does, anyway.
Mystery - the opposite of a Blog.
What do I want?
Step One: Who is the Great 'I' ?
Read up on your Wizard of Oz. Know the difference between the "Great Oz" and the little man hiding behind the curtain. Close your eyes, click your heels and look inside.
This blog is aimless, fun-loving, a little crazy, whacked out on sugar, tired of Christmas as Re-Run, finding its little Way, bouncing from one idea to another, driven by something It Cannot Quite Put Its Finger On - just like me.
And this "I" is all mixed up with the question of "This Life."
Will a Poem Unfold? Or a shitty advertisement for the best products & books of 1968- (let's project that I make it to the ripe old age of 90) 2050?
I'm going for a Poem, Boys and Girls. Writing on Infinite Space with my teensy human pens labelled Action, Word, Feeling & Idea. Pray that I'm lyrical and I hone my Craft. And that I don't stick my head in an oven like the heroine of my 12 year old budding angst-ridden Self, Sylvia Plath.
I promise I did not mean for that to rhyme.
And I would never give up on my Poem. I'm way more like Alice, than my poor, beloved Sylvia. Curious, Curious, Curious. Give me rabbit tails, mushrooms, hookahs, cookies, Queens, cards, offwithherhead & a good book on a sleepy afternoon under a shade tree. Over and over again. More adventures, please!
Curiouser and curiouser. The pens keep scribbling their odd, lovely, tragic, strange, curious, miraculously miraculous scribbles!