Thursdays

It seems Thursdays are my day to post. It must be because of that small gasp of breath the universe takes right after humpday and right before shouting TGIF in which I actually have time to form some coherent thought. Normally, I don't work on Fridays, just one of the very few perks of my job, but this week, I am working tomorrow, and I have to tell you, it's pretty demoralizing. Thursday nights are supposed to be my blow off steam time, go to happy hour with some friends, or just sit and read a good book if I feel like it. I can stay up late on Thursdays and sleep in most Friday mornings, and no one cares, no one notices. So, here's my sad little mourning of a Thursday night followed by Friday morning where I have to get up and actually go to work. I suppose it could be worse, I could have to do it all the time. :)

Joiners

join·er /ˈdʒɔɪnər/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[joi-ner] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
–noun
1. a person or thing that joins.
2. a carpenter, esp. one
who constructs doors, window sashes, paneling, and other permanent woodwork.
3. a person who belongs to many clubs, associations, societies, etc.,
often from indiscriminate enthusiasm, for increased status, to make business or
social contacts, or the like.

We've all met them, the joiners, people who just have to belong to those exclusive clubs. Though I resist the label, I guess I'm a joiner, afterall, here I am joining the blogsphere, right? I've been a lurker for a long time, a stalker if you will of others who have much more interesting things to say about life, who have witty observations, who seemingly live on the computer to write so much. But, once in a while I have some spark of inspiration, some relvelation I feel will be more meaningful if shared with a group, and since I'm not sure where else to spew it, I guess this place is as good as any.

I've been itching for some time now to get back into writing on a more regular (I almost said daily, but I know myself better than that) basis. I used to write copious amounts of poetry, letters, lyrics, thoughts, you name it, I wrote. But, it seems over the years those wells of inspiration have dried up, or I've locked them away afraid that they wouldn't be good enough, understood, or appreciated. Maybe I just got out of tune with myself, and don't have that inner voice pushing it's way out of every pore, exploding from every fiber of who I am. Or, maybe I'm just shallow, at any rate, I intend to figure it out.