What to Write About?

This morning I took a survey about blogging (thanks, Beth). One of the reasons I didn’t give was “it’s my turn.”

When it’s “my turn,” the day unfolds as a series of opportunties. Last night, for instance: the cat throws up on the bed. I get up and deal with it. I finally after much tossing and turning get to sleep, only to dream about a man knocking on the door in the dark, wanting me to call for an ambulance. Where are you from? I said, instead of calling the police (hey, it was a dream). Over there, he said, pointing toward the railroad tracks. Not sure whether he wanted an ambulance for himself or someone else, and profoundly suspicious, I vacillated until he showed every sign of dying on the spot whereupon I dialled 911 asking for an ambulance. “We don’t do ambulances,” came the reply. Then I woke up to the sound of a puking cat.

Or, I could write about my profound depression (and it’s at this point, I should probably admit to myself, medicatable) about the state of the world.

Or I could write about my new and exciting dalliance with Akim Cursive, a modern calligraphic hand I knew nothing about just two days ago, but which seems very suited to writing poetry. I was practicing this evening, drawing the vomitatious cat (he moved off), working working fast to try and push it hard. It’s fun when one of these things can be semi-mastered in a matter of hours rather than years.