I don't write on a schedule, nor do I write very frequently at all. I write the most when I'm dissatisfied with something in my life, and the least when I am not busy and am moderately happy. Well, that's not true. I write worthwhile things when I'm sad and boring lists of the things I do from day to day when I'm happy. They're not interesting to read, but they're nice to have, so I can remember what I was doing at a specific time in my life.
The times that I do write something that I really end up enjoying, or saving or posting or treasuring, it's usually because something completely random happened that set a lit match to some fast-burning wick in the wick-lawn of my mind and caused me to whip something out in a half hour like a maniac. It itches. My fingertips actually itch to type. I love it when this happens. I love it when I'm sitting on a bench looking at someone walking by and the crook of their elbow wrinkles in a certain way and it reminds me of someone I used to know and I have to write about it. I love it when I eat a peach and get the juice all over my face and sticky in the spaces between my fingers, and I think about the fuzz, and somehow I automatically have five pages in my brain that I have to write about it. I love it when three Christmas lights arranged in a triangle configuration catch my eye and explain some philosophy I was arranging in my mind earlier over a bowl of Teriyaki Stix with Sierra, and I have to write about it. I love it when Bernadette Peters comes on Pandora and somehow some lump forms in my throat about some statue I saw one time and I have to write about it. I love it when I have a crazy bowl-me-over deja vu that seems like it actually couldn't be happening and I have to write about it.
I don't draft, and I don't formulate, and I don't outline--usually, when I write something like a blog, literally the entire thing appears in my brain at one time. It all flows out, the faucet is turned to all the way on, and then all the way off. There's no trickling. I rarely change things, I just gush and finish and wipe clean the edge of the story and let it go.
When I get the itch every once in a while, I treasure it. When I don't get it for a while, I miss it.
Today I sat in church, and somebody got up and said something that gave me the itch. It sent a thrill through my chest down each arm into my fingers, like the one when you miss a step walking up stairs. I took a twistable blue crayon from out of my bag and scribbled a couple notes on the back of a white piece of paper.
My friend was talking in church today about how you can have a testimony of all kinds of things. In my church, we bear our testimonies frequently, or at least, we're encouraged to. Our testimonies of our church, I mean. And I love to do so, though it's scary sometimes. We believe that it strengthens our testimony, to share it with other people. I believe this. And I also believe that my friend was right--you can have testimonies of all kinds of things.
It has come across my mind that today I have a testimony of flossing. They're not lying--it really does become habit and stop hurting like a mother after you do it for a while.
I have a testimony of tomato soup and pizza as the best November lunch.
I have a testimony of a good quiet round of reverse spoonage with PBF, a perfectly nice reverse-spooner.
I have a testimony of Bob Le Flambeur. (Lanee, I watched it again. Bob.)
I have a testimony of the little old lady sitting in front of me in church today, her gray spun-candy hair done up in a Gibson Girl, who was clutching a white lace-edged handkerchief embroidered with blue daises to her brimming eyes when they announced that she and her husband had just celebrated their 68th wedding anniversary this weekend.
I have a testimony of flying on planes and crunching pretzels and ice between sips of plane ginger-ale while feeling unearthbound for an hour or so.
I have a testimony of cocktail sauce.
I have a testimony of the dollar movie. Some movies are good to see there. In a good way.
I have a testimony of singing really loud.
I have a testimony of God.
I have a testimony of how some of Ikea's furniture is just really crappy but how it's fun to walk around.
I have a testimony of "Moments In The Woods".
I have a testimony of laughing and falling on the floor about it.
I have a testimony of people who don't try to pretend like they get it but just try and get it as much as they can without worrying about everything.
And I have a testimony of The Itch because it's what made me want to think about flossing and peaches and God and what made me start this whole blog in the first place last January, when my next-door dormmate inspired me by creeping into my room like a snow monster and ruining my life.
She really didn't ruin my life.
But I am thankful for her actions, and all the other itchy actions out there.
Keep 'em coming.