When the well runs dry

Not a real, water-type well, but the blog-post word-well in my brain. The one that is supposed to have correctly spelled words and grammatically correct sentences floating in it.

words

Lately my word-well is not exactly dry, it’s more like, um….blah. Void of completed ideas. There are lots of unfinished ideas saved in the draft folder but during a moment of the dry-well phase, they all suck.

It’s not like I don’t feel the urge to type out something coherent and interesting, but then I stumble over the coherent part. And it really depresses me when I discover that if I don’t find my incoherent sentences interesting, why would anyone else find them interesting?

Occasionally I visit other blogs who may have encountered this phenomenon. Some of them solve this problem by simply importing, or copying, a  twitter or email conversation they’ve had with some friend. It may be something that appears hilarious to them (and may be only mildly funny to their blog readers), or it could be something that has them in some passionate fury. This always stumps me.Why would they do that? Or maybe I should be thinking this way: why would I not be doing that?

My one friend in Europe and I send upteen emails back and forth on a daily basis. We are talking, brainstorming, planning, supporting, and don’t forget bitching and complaining to our hearts’ content. Especially the bitching and complaining part can get kind of interesting…and when you throw in some nice PMS or some diet-induced misery, those emails could have some real meat on them as far as publishing them on the internet is concerned.

She once asked me why we don’t place those kinds of conversations into a blog. She figures, being the social media expert that she is, that there would be all kinds of traffic on a blog like that where people come to feel less alone. Less isolated. And feel validated that their misery is in fact real. And allowed. “Go ahead and wallow”…we would say. “We HEAR you.”

I save the emails between my friend and I. I believe she does the same. Going back months or years and re-reading some of our more, shall we say, passionate emails between us, it occurs to me that it really is kind of amusing to read about it after the fact. You can usually recall the events of the time that caused us the grief while reading over the phrases.  And the lashing out at, oh, the husbands, the kids, the family, the government, everyone and their grandmother’s dog brings back all kinds of emotion. That lashing out always feels therapeutic. Especially since I know that she is not taking it personally, unlike if I were to lash out verbally at the next-door neighbour, the offspring, or a parent or whomever.

I recall vividly, before both she and I even knew what a blog was, an email she typed out to me in anger. She was mad at her spouse. They were on their first of five babies and there was some situation with him doing something wrong with the stroller. I don’t recall the story exactly, but what is ingrained in my brain is how she physically typed out that she was pounding the keys really hard in her anger while typing her grief to me.

Who needs expensive therapists when there is email? And more importantly, a sympathetic and supportive reader receiving, and responding to, the email at the other end?

But I don’t know if I could put those conversations on a blog. I have to think about it some more.

What I can do however is talk about it in a post when my well runs dry.

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