Why I Like to Write

By and large, I feel like I was born with the need to write.  I don't this mean that in a, "I was born to be the next Jane Austen" sort of way.  That would be very annoying, let alone arrogant.  Putting it bluntly, I've always just liked to write stuff.  When I was a little older than Margo, I'd draw a bunch of scribbles on lined paper and ask my mom if I had written anything.  "No?"  I'd reply.  "Well did I at least write any letters?"  When I was about 8 or so, I got my first journal-- a Lisa Frank diary with a pair of ballet slippers painted on the cover.  I have no clue who gave it to me, and even more bewildering, why in the heck they picked out ballet slippers is beyond me.  "Two left feet" would be an extremely kind description of my God-given dancing ability.  Regardless, I loved this diary.  It had a lock and key, which I pretty much thought made me big stuff.  I filled that journal, cover to cover, mostly with thing about friends, who was mad at who at school, and why my little sister was the most irritating person on the planet.  By and large, I wrote exactly what you'd expect out of an 8 year old.  But from that point forward, I kept a diary until I was 22.  You're probably wondering why I stopped.  Or maybe you don't give a hoot.  I'm telling you anyway.  The truth is, I really don't have an answer.  I did adopt an 8 week old puppy when I was 22. That, aside from the time I tried to make chocolate covered pretzels with NesQuik, was probably one of the biggest disasters of my life.  So I'm going to say I was too busy de-worming a dog we think came from a puppy mill than to write about my day, which at that point, involved rowdy, know-it-all, honors level juniors in high school by day, crazy hyper Reggie dog by night.  Who wants to relive that in writing at the end of each day?

I'm not a particularly sentimental person when it comes to stuff.  I have no problem purging junk, as well as  things that aren't junk but that I'm tired of storing.  I like freeing up space in the house and then reorganizing.  It's like moving to a whole new house without nearly as much work.  I mean, yes, you've still got the leaky kitchen faucet you've always had, but a little TLC to the closet, and you can handle so much more out of that faucet.  But when it comes to my old journals, I'd probably consider them my top, if not only, prized possession (aside from my kids.  Do they count as possessions??).  "What about your wedding album?!" you ask.  Well, those pictures are on some disc in the hoity-toity photographer's studio.  Push comes to shove, all of that can be duplicated (for a pretty penny, I'm sure).  But the stomach flu on my 11th birthday that I wrote about?  That's priceless.  Occasionally, and I'm talking about maybe once every 2 or 3 years, I'll pull out one of those diaries.  I'm usually pretty embarrassed for the teenage version of myself, which is why anymore, I go straight for the Lisa Frank.  It's a lot easier to tolerate an 8 year old's obnoxiousness than it is a 17 year old's, even in (or maybe especially in) yourself.

Aside from journals, I love (and I mean LOVE) to make my grocery lists, to write invitations to parties, and to address envelopes.  That's sort of weird, isn't it?  I told you I like to write "stuff," and I'm not so egocentric as to just write things about me all day long.  I mean, I get that a blog sort of resides on the premise of me:  my life, observations, my thoughts.  Come to think of it, a blog is about the most self-absorbed type of literature out there.  Does it even count as literature??  This is a philosophical debate for another day, mostly because if I go down this road right now, I'm going to lose people.  You'll "x out" of this screen and go back to playing Candy Crush.  Don't even pretend you won't.  But I will say that I had to write a paper my senior year of high school that defined and described what literature really is.  What did I write, you ask?  I have no idea.  That was a long time ago. I don't even know why I still remember that assignment, especially when I keep forgetting to buy things like toilet bowl cleaner. But anyway, I do just like the physical act of writing stuff,whether pen and paper style, or on the computer.  I'm not saying that I like to draw on my computer screen.  I'm saying I like to type ideas.  Do I have to explain everything?

This may come as a surprise, especially if you've ever had a kid-free meal with me because I can talk and talk and talk, but in real life, I'm an introvert.  Now before you get carried away with that, allow me to clear up some common and aggravating misconceptions about introverts:  it doesn't mean I don't like people, nor does it mean I'm shy.  It doesn't mean I'm anti-social, which now that I brought that up-- the true definition of "anti-social" means a person who behaves contrary to social norms, not someone who shies away from crowds.  So the person who habitually steals purses off shoulders at Wal-Mart, then goes out to the parking lot and punches the cart kid in the face-- that's antisocial, because it's bizarre and inappropriate social behavior.  I took psychology my junior year of high school, so that's how I know I'm right about this.  Seriously, look it up.  And if you're thinking, "But Sara, all teenagers behave in bizarre and inappropriate ways."  I would agree with you, which is why many mental illnesses shouldn't be diagnosed until young adulthood, when hormones calm the heck down and people quit acting like morons 90% of the time. That doesn't always happen in real life, but I'm not getting in to the debate about over-medicated youth... at least not today.  I should say that a couple of months ago, I broke out in hives and my ears started to swell.  Imagine a bright red elephant.  The ER doctor asked if I needed any pain medication.  He wasn't joking, either.  There's something messed up about that.  Maybe I don't look like your typical drug seeker in that I have all my teeth and can usually carry on a conversation without twitching, but you hear about moms like me getting hooked to stuff all the time.  Have you seen Dr. Phil???  Just in case you're wondering, I responded to the doctor by saying that what I really needed was a prescription for some heavy-duty sleeping meds, maybe a muscle relaxer, and an anti-anxiety. I thoroughly expected a hearty laugh out of him.  No dice.

Back to the introvert thing.  Introverts need time alone. That's how we recharge our batteries.  We like quiet.  We like time away from the world.  And I'm not just talking about time away from your chatty Aunt Sharon with the uni-brow.  I'm talking about time away from even people you like best.  How much time we like sans people sort of depends on the individual and the situation.  If I go to a party, chances are I'll come home totally fried , useless for a good couple of hours.  Not because I didn't have fun.  In fact, if there are decent snacks, chances are I actually did have fun.  And because I rarely get invited to parties, it's sort of a big deal when it actually happens; it's something to get excited about. Heck, any event that doesn't involve cutting up food, putting shoes on the right feet, and being handed a booger is absolutely something to get excited about.  Introverts just need time to unwind from all the energy we used up at said gathering.  Unlike extroverts, who recharge their batteries by socializing, introverts re-energize by being alone with their thoughts. It's like a fuel tank:  introverts fill up on their own, extroverts fill up by engaging with others. I wish people understood that.  You say "introvert" and people assume you're a sociopath.  Here's another thing about introverts, which probably contributes to the brain dead social setting phenomenon:  we tend to find small talk incredibly cumbersome.  We'd rather just jump into a deep conversation about the deterioration of the traditional family unit, why young adults don't go to church, and the Republican Party's inability to produce a worthwhile Presidential candidate.  That's interesting to us.  The weather, however, is not.  If you see me at Aldi and have a thought on any of these topics, please feel free to stop me; just don't ask me "how things are going."

So the whole introvert description is just a segue, albeit a long one, to another reason I like to write.  By the way, "segue" is pronounced "seg-way."  See, you knew that word after all.  Don't worry, I had to look up the spelling, too, and I double checked because I didn't believe Google and I were talking about the same word at first.  So anyway, I like to write because it does give me that much needed time with my own thoughts.  Maybe this is true of everyone, but I've always sort of got this running dialogue going on in my head: conversations I'd like to have if Oprah ever interviewed me: things I'd like to say about kids, about living in a teeny house with kids, about maintaining your sanity in a teeny house with kids.  Writing allows me to collect all of those thoughts, organize them, then stick them in a file folder in my brain.  The goal is that I lay it to rest and move on to incessantly mulling over a different topic.  If you're anything like me, you understand what I'm talking about.  And if you have no clue what I'm saying, you're A) probably not an introvert and B) probably wondering why I haven't pursued medication for this.

It should also be noted that while other women my age (women?  Are you serious? I still feel like I'm 10), have hobbies-- cooking, crafting, working out, I have about none. No, not even "about none."  That's an overstatement.  I absolutely have no hobbies.  So yes, you're understanding correctly-- I rarely go to parties, and I have no pastimes.  Don't I sound like someone you want to be friends with?  Cooking, for example, makes a huge mess, and mostly, whatever I make is merely edible at best, nothing to write home about.  Crafting, and I'm not sure exactly what that includes, is super stinkin' expensive. I've tried scrapbooking on a few different occasions, and let's just say I don't think I've ever completed an entire scrapbook, maybe not even an entire page.  Do you know how much money that means I've flushed??  I don't even want to think about that.  Between the back and forth to Hobby Lobby for stickers and cut-outs and special scissors that make fancy, squiggly cuts, I just couldn't handle the commitment.  Where in the world are you supposed to store all that stuff, anyway??  I see all theses fancy craft rooms on Pinterest. Yeah, let me know when you actually design one of those.  Everyone I know crams all their art supplies in a couple of clear, shoe box-size Rubbermaids and that jams that in the coat closet, right underneath the basket of mismatched mittens. I don't care how organized you are, you know exactly what I'm talking about.  And as for working out.... are you kidding me?!  My hats go off to all the mommies out there squeezing in time for the gym.  It's just that I'd rather be reading the encyclopedia.  Or filing our taxes.  I made the volleyball team in the 7th grade, which I'm just going to go ahead and say publicly that I think the coach kept from cutting me merely because I was a really nice girl.  Seriously. I had absolutely no talent, and if truth be told, I think I caused more problems than anything else.  By problems, I mean that I was afraid of the ball.  That's a pretty major hang-up in volleyball.  Then, when I got to high school, I decided to join the Cross Country team.  It was a sport that didn't involve a ball, a net, a stick, or a racket.  Fairly non-threatening, right?  Only issue:  I hated running. And on top of that, I was slow.  And I mean super slow.  I did make a lot of friends on the team, so that was a positive.  But then there was that whole introvert thing. When the rest of the girls were gearing up to hang out after a race, I was ready to sit on the couch and veg out for the rest of the afternoon in complete solitude, maybe watch  a Lifetime movie or The Frugal Gourmet.  Just me and my thoughts. If you're thinking that the teenage Sara sounded a lot like a 95 year old, fuddy-duddy spinster, I'd say you're pretty perceptive. To re-read this actually makes me laugh.  What a weirdo I was.... er... am. ;)  It's a darn good thing Eric is a natural athlete and isn't half as awkward.  He may be stoic and serious, but he's not the awkward type.  Our kids would be S.O.L. without his genes.  I know you're nodding in agreement.

So, the last reason I enjoy writing (and yes, that means you're almost to the end of this post; please, curb your enthusiasm) is that it's sort of a super nerdy form of rebellion, right up there with Dungeons and Dragons in the school cafeteria on lunch break.  I learned all of these grammar rules in school and for the longest time, I'd follow them without deviation.  Sentences with complete subjects and predicates.  No run-ons, please.  Commas in all the right places (there actually are rules for commas, by the way; you don't just put them wherever it sounds good).  All of these are great rules, and if I didn't have kids, I'd probably still be teaching them to a bunch of apathetic teenagers on the brink of dozing off or checking their cell phones.  But then, once you've got all the rules mastered, you can start bending and breaking them.  Manipulating everything in language to say something original-- I love that! If you're lost, Google "e.e. Cummings poetry."

So there you go.  Thanks for indulging me by reading what I have to say.  Writing is truly just about my favorite thing in the world.  Other than my kids.  And being alone.  And looking up the spelling of words like "segue."