Putting down the pen

One of the oddest things about blogging is that it lends itself to the belief that your thoughts are especially important and need to be communicated. Before, I was happy to let the random ideas or clever scenarios merely simmer in my head before vanishing (unlike the lyrics to old TV show theme songs, which seem to be wedged in some random brain crevasses for ever more-- I bet almost every single one of you can rap the Fresh Prince of Belair theme song in your sleep). Yet now, it feels like I am cheating myself to let them escape. They somehow need to be written down, to be witnessed.

This may explain why, on the bus today, I was struggling to find a theme to connect the dots between my opinions on the pigeons living the alley by my apartment, my implicit theories about the guy who sat across me on the bus in the beat up leather jacket (I decided he shopped at used book stores and vaguely wanted to marry him), and my annoyance at my co-worker who has suddenly become a fierce vacation doppelganger and is copying every step of the holiday the Duke and I are about to depart on.

Of course, none of these thoughts matter much at all. It isn't going to alter the course of my or your life whether I decide to tell you about how I nearly trip over pigeons in the morning.

This is likely why I have not joined the Twitter masses (or is it the Twitterati?). If there's one thing I have been told on multiple occasions (other than "Wow, you really are that clumsy" or "Maybe that's enough cheese for today"), it is that I think too much. I know that if I purposely enrolled myself in a program where people presumably wanted to hear the most random of my thoughts, like how it just feels better to know my socks have polka dots on them even though no one can see them, I would probably whip myself up into a frenzy. It certainly seems that the simple act of blogging has done enough to make me more aware of the minutia of my brain... Twittering really could only make it worse. I spend enough of my brain power reacting to "Oh God, I need to remember to blog this."

It kind of reminds me of those people who get so wrapped up in taking pictures of an event or a place that they are entirely separate from the experience. They have no real memories of it, only the plastic versions of memories in their photographs. I have the tendency to start narrating the story of my day in my head before the day is even finished, rather than just being in that day.

The other night, the Duke and I were having a profound late night conversation about of topics such as mental illness and astronomy. As I slid beneath the comforter, knowing the similarities between his memory and a piece of swiss cheese, I said to him "You are getting some pretty intense ideas there. You should try to write them down." He told me that he sometimes appreciates being able to have these thoughts without feeling they need to be preserved, that he can sit with the idea in the moment and be okay with the fact that it may never come to mind again.

Perhaps I can learn a little from him about living in the moment.