Hey there, tiny dumplings.
Sorry I haven't writ; I've been busy forgetting to. Naw, that's not really true. I'm not sure I had anything to say. No fully formed thoughts yet. And I went to Boston to visit my boyfriend (I know, it's foolish to live 2,980 miles away from the man you love) and when I get out of my routine all hell breaks loose.
The thing I've noticed about my blog is, that while it is me spitting up gorp from my mind, it's not really much about me. Okay, yeah, it is. But I mean I'm not telling you about my daily life. A lot of bloggers tell you about their daily lives. And they therefore write every day. And thank god for them because I get cranky when they don't post. And for some reason they are able to make incidents in their daily lives sound funny and delightful and touching and other crap like that. I'm not sure I could do that and be interesting for more than, um, no minutes at all. While I have the greatest life ever (and I'm fully aware of it, this is not hubris, I'm not bragging, I'm acknowledging and bowing down to), I don't think it would read very well. And I have some friends with children and 8-5 jobs who get very snippy when I tell them about my day.
I'm a little embarrassed by my career. Voiceover artist, as you may recall. When people ask me what I do, I do say it proudly, but inside I'm fully aware that that means I get to play for a living. Happily, when they get all holier-than-thou by asking, oh really, what's your day job, or do you have an agent, I'm able to shut them down with the name of one of the top talent agencies in the country. I guess I'm less embarrassed when I'm poked. And this job wouldn't be for everyone, after all, she said defensively. My old agent said she couldn't understand how I could live without knowing where my next check was coming from. And there are the years of living in poverty before you get anywhere, if you get anywhere. And I drive a lot. Sure a lot of people commute, but at least they have time between drives. I've been known to drive an hour somewhere, stay five minutes, and then drive an hour home. (I do drive a Prius if that makes any of you feel better.) And some people wouldn't be good at it. I just happen to be good at it. It's my weird little gift.
But still, telling you about my day would be dull. Or just weird. I'm self-indulgent enough to write a blog, but not so much that I want to tell you every incident from my day.
I just like the opportunity to chat with you in our mostly one-sided conversation.
So if I haven't posted, it's 'cause I really don't have a damn thing to say. And you don't want me to write when I don't have a damn thing to say, because then you get posts like this one. (insert sheepish noise here)
I am awfully fond of you,