Last night, as my husband and I were laying in bed, he turned to me and said, "You know, you really should start a blog." I told him that blogging wasn't really my thing. In fact, since entering motherhood and suburbia and the South and my thirties, I have discovered that there are a number of areas of life which I would classify as "not really my thing."
For instance, I don't like to answer the phone or call anyone. I can't exactly point back to a specific time when this phobia started. I do remember anxiously waiting by the phone as a teenager for someone or anyone to call, so it must be something I've acquired in my adult years. This used to be a major source of contention when my family decided that they wanted to order pizza for delivery. Because, you see, it used to be that you couldn't simply go on to papajohns.com and interact with just your computer (as it should be). You used to have to call and talk to someone - someone that you didn't know - and you had to tell them that you wanted pizza - and then you had to get all specific about toppings and sizes and such. It just seemed like such an invasion. So wrong.
And then there is my little problem with names. After teaching school for a decade plus and changing students every 3 months, I can no longer remember anyone's name. And when I do remember a name, I place it with the wrong last name. I can't even keep my kid's names straight and there are only three of them. Dale Carnegie would not be impressed.
But, as I thought of all of these things that "aren't really my thing", I realized that I do most of them anyway. Much to my chagrin, I still use the phone - probably even daily. I still attempt to address people by their name. I even partake in many of the social niceties of the South, though this part has become strictly academic for me. So, why not blog?