The other day in Pilates this nice woman asked me, told me, really, You Have a Blog. To which I (I hope not rudely, I was just thrown by the question) replied, “I used to.” Which is what I thought at the time. But my friends and family have bugged me enough about it that maybe I won’t give it up yet, just for them.
The thing is, I’ve been Too Blah to Blog. Work, lack of substantial love life, lack of anything beyond the 9-7:30 pm routine behind a desk has left me barren of inspiration for, apparently, based on my posting patterns, over a YEAR now. A year! I have felt Blah. That is, in a word, LAME.
I don’t feel as blah now.
I feel hopeful, in fact. Probably short-sighted, I know, but that’s how I feel.
I started a craft club.
I started dating Someone who makes me laugh. Someone who cooks dinner for me and then makes me little tupperware lunches so I don’t have to eat Cheetos, and at lunchtime I microwave my salmon and sake-marinated brussels sprouts/tilapia with black beans and rice and carry it back to my desk like precious cargo.
I started painting my nails again, one of my few innate skills.
I started playing piano again.
And I have things to say about all these things. I think of something every day I want to tell you, my friends and family. Today it was about The Poop Hoop.
This is not an original observation, but nonetheless, I find it hilarious how you know you’ve broken through a certain level of friendship/relationship when you can talk about Poop. Everybody Poops, but it is only at a certain point you can talk about it.
I was trying to remember today the precise moment at which each of my best girlfriends and I passed (ha!) through the Poop Hoop together and what’s nutty is I could remember the moment for most of them. (Also, as an aside, and as the Someone pointed out to me, one of the rock wall workers at the California ScienCenter this weekend was named Shatanya. YES. Shat. An. Ya.)
Probably I could remember because the first time you talk about it is so funny — it’s like when you and your dinner companion negotiate the charcuterie plate vs. the cheese plate. There is a dance that occurs prior to passing through the Poop Hoop/ordering your appetizer (um, I’m sorry I am using a dinner table metaphor at the same time as discussing bodily functions, but I was raised in a household of medical professionals; this is how we roll). You feel the other person out with some minor overtures (“I have been on this new diet, to help with my, um, digestion”/ “well, the charcuterie is less expensive, but the cheese comes with figs and pecans and perhaps it might complement the wine more?”) and after steady acceptance of escalating overtures (“I like to take my time in the morning, you know, to let my body get ready for the day”/ “well, blue cheese IS my favorite food”), you’ve suddenly made it through the Poop Hoop, ordered the four-cheese plate (which selection is perhaps, um, actually a barrier to making it through the literal poop hoop, SORRY, that is probably gross), and you feel contented and happy and closer to your companion.
Anyway.
I don’t know what my point is except that the Poop Hoop is funny. And that passing through requires a lack of self-censoring — also required to blog when you are Too Blah to Blog.
So, friends and family, I’ll try to stop self-censoring and blog more. And please hope with me that life keeps the blahs away.
Sunday Undies 