Yours truly, me, moi, I, me, mine. I tend to shy away from talking about myself a lot here on the blog, because the focus is on fiction, the occasional poesy or parody piece, and even more occasionally, photography. However, I enjoy Cee Neuner’s “Share Your World” challenges. Mostly because I’m able to extrovert myself into the blogosphere and “meet”—emphasis on “e,” for electronic—people from around the world, from various cultures and prisms of perspectives. Three cheers for the blogosphere! I encourage you to take part in the festivities at Share Your World and the ironically famed Club Introvert.
So, without further ado . . . once more into the breach, friends:
Describe yourself in a word that starts with the first letter of your name.
Linguistic. On my worse days, by turns lackadaisical or laissez-faire. Lacerating, laconic, or lugubrious on my worst days. [Why one word when you can use 5,001? Hyperbole, anyone? It tastes better than a trillion little suns shining.]
The kidlets & me in my running duds (a.k.a., everyday clothes)
If 100 people your age were chosen at random, how many do you think you’d find leading a more satisfying life than yours?
Since satisfaction is seated within the self, I can’t say how many people truly, in guarded moments, find their lives satisfying. I know the polls indicate that Americans seem to be the least satisfied of peoples. For myself, I am pretty lucky to have weathered some electrical storms, survived several soul-poisonings from various toxic folks in the world, and come through it to be granted (or have won and earned?) the love of my husband, children, and a few precious friends and family. Pressed to guesstimate, I’d say only about 7-15 people have a “more satisfying” life.
If you were a tree, would you become a book or furniture? Please describe.
First, I’d want to stay a tree. Alive. Life always matters very much (plants included). That said, if I had to be “dead,” I’d want to be a book in my household. My husband knows how to conserve and bind books, so I know no matter how broken-down I became, I’d be treated with the care of a gentle progenitor. Failing that, I would want to be a single sheet of paper in my household; I have a religious fervor for reusing scraps of paper to write everything from poetry to microfiction to grocery lists. And then, I’d get typed and recycled, so I could last—in some form—for a long time, for future usefulness. Call me the Energizer bunny of writing instruments.
You are trapped in an elevator, who would you want to be trapped with?
If a living person . . . First, my husband, though I know that seems boring (sans kids; sorry sweeties!). But it gets more exciting. We would of course create a time-traveling elevator and, never mind Bill and Ted, pick up some fascinating folks from the past and/or present. If I had to limit myself to, oh, about 25 or so from all professions, times, and cultures . . . but I won’t do that to your eyes. For the sake of your reading pleasure, I will mention only a couple handfuls: William Shakespeare, Flannery O’Connor, T.S. Eliot, Abigail Adams (gotta remember the ladies), Carl Sagan, Salvador Dali, Homer or Sophocles, a random Middle or Upper Paleolithic person (not Lower Paleolithic, so as to be able to communicate with him/her better), Stephen King, Peter Gabriel, Siddhartha Gautama (“the Buddha”), and Alfred Hitchcock. Otherwise, dang, it’s gonna have to be a time-traveling cargo elevator.
Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I am grateful for being alive and being loved. I hope for more of both this week. 🙂