Nine Things I’m (Probably) Not Writing About

This blogging business is harder than it looks.

Especially for someone like me: a procrastinator, a perfectionist with a mile-wide lazy streak. I used to wonder why I had such trouble making decisions; a rare flash of insight tells me it’s because I’m afraid to make the wrong one. So I don’t make one at all. Which in itself, of course, is a decision not to do ANYTHING. Like when nothing seems like a good topic for a blog post.

I started off writing I Run in Jeans with some optimism. I’ll post something three times a week! No, that’s too aggressive, twice a week is sufficient. Wait … I don’t want to wear my readers out. I think three times in two weeks is enough. But no, once a week is really plenty. It’s not for the readers—it’s for myself! After all, it’s just for fun! I enjoy writing! So what if I don’t post for a whole month? It’s not like I’m getting graded or anything. And I don’t care whether anyone else reads it anyway! Wait, who am I kidding? I thrive on the feedback!

My modus operandi is generally this: Take a germ of an idea and just start writing about it until I see where it takes me. The approach will reveal itself in the process. (Or maybe it will be a blog about nothing! Just like my all-time favorite sitcom Seinfeld.) Knowing that it might take me some time to make sense of my germ, and that I'll undoubtedly change directions several times, I procrastinate.

In the past couple of weeks, during which I haven’t posted a new entry, I have been obsessing about what I could be posting. It’s not for lack of inspiration that I’ve not written anything; it’s more for lack of conviction that the concepts have any entertainment value. Because above all—OK, make that in second place right after good food—humor is what makes the world go ’round. What about love, you ask? Well, duh, food and humor ARE love. That’s the truth as practiced in my family, anyway.

Parked at my Dell desktop with a bloody Mary (containing blue-cheese-stuffed olives on a toothpick), I briefly reconsidered a few of my recently discarded blog topics:

1) My birthday. I turned 57. Big whoop. Everyone has a birthday every single year. The aging thing has been done to death.
2) Thoughts on my husband’s five-month unemployment, and how that affects aspects of our relationship. Except he reads this blog. And it’s not really funny. And I really do care about his feelings.

3) The five-mile Walk for Women’s Wellness I did with my granddaughter Autumn last weekend. And how my hips ached afterward. Again, big whoop. 

4) Being a vegetarian and eating beef stew the other night, and how delicious it was. Hmm … maybe I CAN get some mileage out of that one. But I’ll have to be careful of the soapbox.

5) Couples’ book club last Saturday. Enjoyable, but nothing inspired me.

6) Losing Sarah, one of the people on my staff at work, whom I greatly valued as an exceptional employee and as a quality human being. She’s getting married and moving away. SO not funny. Ob-la-di, ob-la-dah, life goes on.



Gramps, so named because of the long gray hair
protruding from his ears.

7) Our gigantic, incredibly furry Maine coon cat, Gramps. Cats in general appeal to a rather narrow audience. He’s kind of funny, but he’s also kind of a bad cat. Like, he claws the furniture and pees on shoes. But here’s a picture of him, since I’m probably never going to write about him in depth.

8) Getting my hair cut and not liking it. I TOLD Michelle I want to grow it out! She said she was barely trimming it! Why is it so short? Really, that’s about all there is to say about the matter.

9) Lighting our fireplace for the first time this season. Reading the Sunday paper and drinking coffee in our pajamas until noon. As lovely a picture as that paints, let’s face it: booooooorrring.



Unfortunately, none of these brilliant topics has taken hold and expanded itself into post-worthiness. But you never know; if I grow desperate somewhere down the road my readers may find themselves being regaled with details of the lame discussion from book club, or my latest aches and pains. Or maybe I’ll just keep posting about what I didn’t post about. And I hope you think my cat is cute.