There's this one writer that I follow on Facebook and Twitter. He often discusses what to write, how to write it, and how to say what you mean and mean what you say. He always says, this guy - Write What You Know. Know What You Write.
I'm blogstipated. I've been thinking for a long while what I can write when there's so incredibly much in my life that is just untouchable - it's not my story, none of the story lines are, and even though they interect with mine - I can't unsnarl the threads that bind all of the stories together. I can see HOW the green thread SHOULD go under the black and over the orange, but it keeps getting snagged in the blue and the purple will not mind it's own business.
So, here's me, writing what I know.
I know how to suck the fun from every last freedom my kids envision. I'm good at that.
I am good with asthma and handling it. Mostly because I've been shoved in the Almighty Inferno of The Difficult Breathing, but I do know me some mean asthma and allergy facts.
I know illness. Lately I've been dealing with two ill family members and I've been learning an awful lot about being a servant and doing it willingly. I won't say well.
I know how to travel. I suppose I could write about travel, but I don't know that I'd do that all that well.
I know how to separate wash, overload the machine, transfer it to the dryer and get it all folded. I do this every day, and I am an absolute whiz at it - but I'm fairly certain no one wants to read that.
I know about leaking Jeeps. I've had mine in to be fixed a record four - or was it five? - times, so I'm considered pretty much an expert there - but there's really not much call for a leaky Jeep writer.
School projects. Oh, boy - do I know school projects. I doubt that anyone would read that - because once you've done one, you have ZERO desire to ever do another - and having all of your kids attend the same elementary school means that every.single.kid does the very.same.project - and I could, I suppose, write a post detailing exactly how you feel like you reside in a time warp. But that's despressing - who wants to read depressing?
I know that when your kid, two times in one week, burns a cup of instant mac and cheese (head hanging in shame, but that's serious crack to my kids) - well, that smell hangs around for a good, long while.
I know about not getting enough sleep at night, mostly because you stay up late. Not because you are playing some iPhone game with litle bits of colored candy (like one of your friends, who can't understand why you won't join her in her most.favorite.game.EVER even though she's invited you to play it on Facebook 1987395 majilion times) but because there is so incredibly much stuffs in your head that you just can't be still enough to sleep.
I know about flipping the calendar, and being thankful that the past month is gone because it was just so full of the suck - but wondering if this is the month that will be the one in which the terrible, awful might happen.
I know about burning the candle at both ends, in the middle, through the wick and over the sides.
I know about working for hours and hours on the computer, just so a ton of people can think that I do nothing all day but play around on Pinterest and shoot the breeze on the book of Face.
I know that my dishwasher makes a high pitched squealing noise for the 2 hours of the cycle, and that it runs right behind my desk and some days, it's all I can do not to yank that sucker out of the wall and bash it in with a shovel. And then some days, I put on my enormous, Look at me, I'm a mix master! headphones and pretend it doesn't exist.
I know about early morning teacher conferences, not so hot report cards, secrets, late night confidences, and more about my pharmacist than I would ever care to. If my pharmacist was a category on Jeopardy!, I would so win.
I know about going to Target to pick up yet another packet of steriods or albuterol or an epi pen and spending $200. Ouch. How many of us could write about that?
I suppose, if I was to write about what I know - I'd write about life. Life is funny. Life is harsh. Life is bitter and cruel and heartbreaking and staggering in it's genius and so full of complexity that it astounds me on an hourly basis.