My great apathy

I've spent all day reading and watching episodes from the first season of Six Feet Under. It's been a great day. Who needs clean underwear? Or dishes? What smell?

Genetics! Cake!

I have never liked writing. In high school, college and sometimes even now spelling, pronunciation, word usage, meanings and the like have always eluded me. Even blogging requires a lot of spell check, dictionary and thesaurus use. (It took me three tries to spell that correctly. And is that the right way to use tries? See what I mean.)

My daughter is brilliant. She actually tests for a high IQ. She's witty. She reads ALL THE TIME. She has a much better grasp of grammar than I do, and gets As in science and math. But she doesn't like to write. She says that she "can't write" but I really think she suffers from the same writers block that I do. I suppose it can be defined as "can't write" though the "can't" isn't tied to ability or even motivation.

We talked last night about how we write in the smallest terms possible. We think complicated but cannot put it to paper. So, a complex sentence about, say, eating, desiring, wanting a delicious, decadent, forbidden piece of cake is written - "Cake now." and loses something in translation. It results in many assignments that say "needs more detail" and "expand that thought."

I am truly not sure how to help my daughter except to say that the more you write the less difficult it becomes. I am blogging as a forum for emptying my head of all these complex thoughts. And hopefully, she will find a forum for all those thoughts that works for her. I certainly hope so, as frankly, she's genetically pre-disposed to running unpleasant thoughts over and over in her head. But that's her father's fault.

We rule the world. Why?

Today I am trying to help a Native American woman who lives at my housing authority (the one I work for not own, though as a tax payer, I might have partial ownership and I certainly own it emotionally but that’s another post) sell a flute made by her brother. She needs the money to pay a utility bill. The flute is beautiful and she is asking only $150 for it. But of course no one wants to pay that. So, I mentioned that her brother lives in Seattle. The only thing more romantic than a Native American, is a Native American who lives in Seattle. White people are so weird. And as one, I know. Just to prove my point, here is a picture of the Queen visiting Virginia for the 400^th Anniversary of the founding of James Town. Doesn’t she look smitten? (That's a Virginia Indian though not a Seattle Indian.)

Because I have things to say that aren't cheery

I am uncheery. I have another blog but it is cheery. I need another venue.

Welcome.