Sometimes I Feel Like a Blog

Work was extremely slow a few days ago, so I thought I'd blog. I ended up typing paragraph after paragraph of quasi-psychobabble that I'm not all that comfortable posting. Partly because I don't want to tell stories about other people, and partly because I've realized as of late that I am completely incapable of using words to accurately articulate my life. I can string together some pretty stunning/tragic sentences, but there's a good chance I'll look back at them and categorically deny what I've written. So unfortunately, my afternoon of words will remain unpublished. Until my memoir comes out.

I'm nearly recovered from the slight post-Vancouver jet lag (which wouldn't have been as big a deal had my apartment not been a sauna when I returned home. Chocolate in my cupboard had melted, that's how hot it was). So my first night back in Ontario was pretty much a write-off sleep-wise. But I slept for 11 hours last night, so all is now well. I've checked out my photos (a camera story will follow in the coming days, I promise), unpacked, and spent a little time contemplating all things life-related. At first I thought I was just infected with some sort of travel bug (not to be confused with the actual bug bite on my neck right now. So odd). But I don't think that's it. And I don't think it's just pure escapism from the daily grind I'm craving. There was something about nature and change and beauty and new friends and awkward conversations and quiet dreams that jump-started my brain a little. 2008 is the year for something new. For an adventure that's beyond just a WestJet flight or a 10-day escape from commas and IMDb.

I can talk a pretty good talk. About risk-taking, creative endeavors, living with no regrets. Failing beautifully. It's the follow-through that's lacking. The trick now is to reconcile my head and my heart while stepping aside and letting Someone Else take the lead.

I will share part of what I wrote earlier this week. And no, I won't expand. Because explaining is the muddled part. I feel as though I should be diagnosed with the symptomless brain cloud Tom Hanks suffers from in Joe Vs. the Volcano.

I went to bed quite contentedly last night. And then I awoke this morning in a state of complete befuddlement, almost a sleep-induced inebriation, doubting my capacity for logic and sanity. As if I had been binge drinking the night before in Vegas, completely unaware that Elvis married me to a stranger until waking up to find a ring on my finger.

Yes, I think about Elvis impersonators at 6 a.m.

(For the illiterate, the blog title is inspired by 1973's Sometimes I Feel Like a Blob.)