Knowing myself as I do, any deliberate attempt at a daily affirmation would be met with a series of eye rolls followed by some adverbs thrust onto the bathroom floor with a questioning lilt, a blank stare, a slight shaking of my head to aid the release of
mild curse words adjectives under my breath, more eye rolls, and possibly a foot stomp as I reach to turn on the shower. I recognize fake in my sleep. So, for a motivational exercise to have any effect on me, it must be spontaneous, organic and preferably before my feet bump the floor. Kind of like a fart.
This internal combustion, as it were, is usually triggered by something I heard or read and often strangely connects people and places in ways only I can understand. That is, I suppose, why some of my writing may seem to be incomplete thought. Maybe too much is implied. Like say, why Wall Street Journal articles are frequently referenced or how something which is absolutely hilarious to me prompts ZERO comments. My husband reminds me that most people consume information and move on, rarely taking time to engage. (He’s sweet like that and he tries to fix everything, really he does.) When I respond by saying how many comments I see on other blogs, and that his theory doesn’t make sense, he just tells me to keep writing, that I’m great, and some other stuff to try to make me
shut up happy.
Here are a few things that motivated me to write today.
Another blogger replied to a comment I made on a post because she is a cheerleader, of sorts.
Yesterday I received an email from a friend about a Dilbert she thought I would find amusing “because you write” she said. She also writes and is a cheerleader, of sorts.
Dilbert to technical writer: Your second paragraph is pointless and confusing. Let’s just delete it.
Technical writer to Dilbert: I’m a highly trained technical writer. What makes you think you can do my job better?
Dilbert to technical writer: That might be a trick question but I’m pretty sure the answer is paragraph two.
Last night I was showing my husband a photo I took on the plane when we went to visit our daughter over Memorial Day Weekend. I swear the image on the window looked just like Howard Stern to me. So, I snapped a picture of it.
I downloaded it. You can listen to it here.
This morning I awoke with the classic (pre Joe Walsh) Eagles tune, Take It to the Limit, in my head.
You can listen to it here.
Now, you should know that the lyrics to this song at one time in my life were associated with closing time. Today they mean something more. My “highway” is this blog and everyday I tell myself to “take it to the limit” one more time. Some days that’s the limit of my imagination. Some days it’s the limit of what I can stand. If there has ever been a day when I needed motivation, today is one of those days, and guess what, as I was reading today’s “Dilbert” in the Dallas Morning News (yes, I read more than the WSJ)
I glanced over at my horoscope and here it is:
‘It gets easier to express yourself from now through the end of the month. Search for buried treasure. Stand firm against an attack.’
I’m going to make an assumption that doesn’t mean a shark attack, but those subtle self-talk attacks I find myself against from time to time. Also, I’m thinking I need to buy a metal detector or take up scuba diving. What do you think?