One of my girlfriends sent me an email this morning. (Hi Barrie!) She was concerned that I might have fallen off the planet. She said that she had sent me about a bazillion Facebook messages since I had come home that I had never replied to, and had even resorted to calling my cell phone. She wrote that it was very unlike me and she was giving me two hours before she called in the Marines (Or maybe just our friend Louise) to come by and see if I was tied up and shoved into a closet by some horrible jewel thieves. (Wouldn’t they be surprised to find that my finest jewels are all made of salt clay?)
I quickly reassured my friend that all was well (Because honestly, what girl wants a horde of tough-looking Marines swarming in her house before she’s even finished her first cup of coffee?) I hadn’t even noticed the Facebook messages, and who knows what was up with my phone. As we chatted and got caught up on a few things and made tentative plans to get together next week, my friend told me she wanted to know all about our “Thelma and Louise Adventure” The one I was supposed to have been blogging about all week.
I couldn’t come up with even one excuse.
In my defense, I had sat myself down at the computer numerous times with commands to get typing before our trip was nothing but a dim, yet pleasant memory. (Sadly, that seems to be happening more and more quickly as I get older) I couldn’t seem to make myself write anything that didn’t make me want to fall asleep.
At first, I thought this was because I still needed to decompress from our trip. After all, I had been with people constantly for two weeks. As much as I enjoyed being with so many different friends and family members, I was going a little crazy. I happen to be one of those people that needs her Alone Time.
Then I realized that there might be something else going on. I think that…maybe…I might just possibly have been being a smidge obstinate. After all, I knew that I had to write about two weeks worth of travel posts and I simply didn’t want to.
Hmmm…I guess I should rephrase that. It wasn’t that I didn’t want document all those wonderful memories I had created. It was more that I didn’t want to have to write them down. Even if I was the one who said I was going to in the first place. (It’s really complicated being inside my head)
Now you know my dirty little secret. I’ve always hated being told what to do. (Even when I’m the one dictating things!) I’m not positive, but I’ve got a feeling that my poor parents were the ones that the stereotyped “harried parents” were based on. My dad, a Navy Chief, was used to instant obedience from the sailors who worked for him. It baffled him that one small child (that would be me) could be so willful. My mom…well, let’s just say that as patient as she always was, I happen to know that she kept a jug of Gallo Brothers in the bottom of one of our cupboards. For emergencies only, of course.
So let’s try a little reverse psychology. (What? You don’t try to play mind games on yourself?) I am NOT going to blog anymore. In fact, I’m not allowed to write about our trip or anything else. If I do…my friend Barrie will send an entire platoon of Marines in to um…take away all of my coffee beans. So there.
(Now let’s just wait and see what happens)