I have not written one of these rambling almanac posts of mine in a while. I find that when I write too many of them in a row, it reminds me how insufferably dull my life is. If I space them out a bit, I can trick myself into believing that I live a life that, though not exactly exciting, rises to the level of having a normal level of activity. I like to have just enough excitement in my life wherein people stop grabbing my wrist to check for a pulse..
But lest I, in my attempts at light comedy, lead you to believe that I am completely sedentary and near comatose, nothing can be further from the truth. I always seem to be on the go. My life is filled with a seemingly never-ending series of activities. I feel I rarely have time to sit and take a breath and relax. And yet, when considering all of those activities and trying to glean through them to find something to write about, I find that the vast majority of them are embarrassingly dull and workaday. The word “banal” comes to mind (only because it has always been a favorite word of mine and I try to work it into conversations frequently.)
I know I am not alone in this. I think a vast number of us in the world, whether we blog or not, have our lives filled with the ordinary, the mundane, the banal, the prosaic. Our lives are filled with …. well … with life. By merely existing, we are given a never ending to-do list that consists of such exciting things as taking out the trash, vacuuming the carpets, paying the bills, mending things that squeak, replacing things that no longer do what they’re suppose do (or, conversely, have started doing things they’re not supposed to), cleaning up the endless series of messes that Life puts on our desk with a sticky note on it that says “Please take care of this”. So we sigh and we take care of it, because that’s what we do. The alternative is chaos and bedlam and a surefire path to end up on an episode of “Horders”.
And I don’t know about you, but I have spent my life avoiding chaos and bedlam. I like things around me to be quiet and serene and pacific. I know others thrive on bedlam and, if it is missing in their lives, they will create it. I’ve never understood that, but I have always shrugged my shoulders and said something along the lines of “to each their own”. I’m sure they, in turn, can’t understand why I avoid pandemonium. They associate noise and mayhem with life being lived to its fullest.
I suppose that difference is, as the saying goes, what makes the world go round. I just wish it would go round a little quieter sometimes.