To Blog or Not to Blog?

I've been debating for awhile about creating my own Blog. The idea kinda makes me laugh. Don't get me wrong, I love reading other people's, but I'm not sure if anyone will really enjoy reading mine. What do I have to say that people will want to read? How is my life any different from the balding, latte-drinking, tuna-fish-smelling, middle-aged man sitting across me at the Blue Dog Cafe?

I love this cafe. It's not the coffee, or the peppy barista, I think that it is simply the atmosphere. That sounds pretty cliché, but it’s true, and I like it that way. Despite the commercialized sign that hangs over the door- which, at first, turned me off from even entering- it is pretty quarky. A conundrum of couches, tables, and chairs polka dot the small room- all of which are extremely tatty (I like that term: tatty. I thesaurused the word “worn” and that’s what I got). Anyways, the furniture looks like it belongs in my Grandma Edna’s old house.

Grandma Edna’s always smelled like fresh-baked pie, pot-roast, and moth balls mixed in a great blender- maybe Cuisinart or Oster (c with a circle around it). The other thing that always reminds me of Grandma is Fig Newtons (another c with a circle).

In my cupboard right now I have an opened box/plastic container thingy with a peel off, yet replaceable tab- it’s pretty trendy and makes the newtons WAY more marketable. But, I have the fat free kind, and they definitely aren’t as good as the ones Grandma used to keep in her cookie jar on the right side of the sink. The sink below the window that looked out into her back yard, where the old, blue, rusted swing set used to be- the one with the double-person swing on which my brother and I use to sit for hours, rocking back-and-forth.

Ok, it probably wasn’t hours, since we both had symptoms of A.D.H.D. and couldn’t do the same thing for that long… and still can’t- as you can see from my writing. No, pretty soon we would get bored of staring one another down (the seats faced each other), and we would run off to pick plums or teeter on the teeter-totter or sneak down into the basement. For some reason, Grandma never liked us playing down there. She said it was dirty, but I’m pretty sure she just didn’t want us to find something that was hidden- something secretive and maybe even magical.

I’m twenty-one years old and I still think everything is magical. Today, for example, was a very magical day. I was walking across campus in the rain with my hood down, allowing the drops to sprinkle the top of my bouffant- I like wearing my hair this way mostly so I can say the word “bouffant.” It sounds so classy- “Ah yes. I think I will wear my hair in a bouffant today…” But, in reality, it’s more like a little bump on top of my head, pinned back with bobby-pins and then braided down the back. Anyways, the rain trickled down onto my forehead and I raised my head to keep them from rolling into my eyes. I imagined that I was a cup-cake and the rain was the brightly colored sprinkles that my five-year old self always applied so liberally to each little mound.

Putting the sprinkles on top was always my favorite part about baking. I can remember spending FOREVER (not literally) on putting the “finishing touches,” as I always called it, on my birthday cake every year. Ask my mom, I’m pretty sure the layer of frosting, candy, and sprinkles was thicker than the cake itself. I don’t even like cake, but I loved the manufacturing process.

I could go on for hours allowing my fingers to record my sporadic flow-of-consciousness, but as I said at the beginning, who is going to read this?! I just literally laughed out loud (capitalized LOL). I just spent about an hour on this haphazard piece of writing- an hour that should have been spent on homework. Ah! What was I thinking?! I have so much to do! So, my conclusion is: I hate blogging, but I think I will be back soon…

if not tomorrow.