Blogging gives me somewhere to turn, when there’s no one to listen. “Come see what a fool I am–not only see, what a fool I am; you can read about it here.”
If anything’s to blame–I choose birth order. I was a middle child. Middle children didn’t get as much attention as first-born. There were albums of first-born children’s pictures. Second born children’s pictures were stashed away in closet shoe boxes.
Cries for attention–we had to scream louder; hated comparisons to older siblings. That’s why we became pranksters and class clowns. Maybe that’s where my crazy story ideas came from?
There are so many disconnected topic ideas floating around in my head, it’s a struggle to keep them organized. Sure, not all of them are good ideas. Some recent examples are:
- Lady Chatterly’s Liver
- What have You Done For Me Philately?
- Don’t Stamp On My Stamp Collection
- Friendship Tests–Moving Pianos
- Little Old Ladies Talking Dirty
- It Was Only Acting (On Impulse)
I wonder if middle children are more likely to be free spirits–prone to follow paths of nonconformity.
My brother was first-born, precocious, and the center of attention. He expected others to like him–couldn’t deal with not being liked. Which my younger brother and I used to full advantage.
And that’s why I am, the way I am. What’s your excuse? Perhaps, you want to be on a hill, but you’re in a valley? You’re name is Jill, but you’d like to be Sally? And, to go along with that thought–I shouldn’t have to stoop this low. It’s just sick–like pity sex–you know.
It’s the same old blame game. True confessions can be embarrassing. After all that–I’d rather be turning phrases, than selecting jars of mayonnaise at the local grocery.