The Nutshell in a Crazy

I might as well be doing brain surgery with a pair of tongs and a crochet needle. Here I am creating my own blog (at least that's what I think I'm doing), and it occurrs to me that I don't really know what a blog is. I just went to this writing conference a couple of weeks ago...I imagine that if you are reading this, it's probably because you're in my writing class, so you were probably there too. Katy Wood Ray, the guest speaker, kept reiterating that in order to write well one must have a vision for what he/ she is writing. It's best to immerse oneself in the genre of literature before attempting to write. So what do I do? I'm somewhere online and see the word "Blog." I click on it, and here I am setting up my own blog even though I have never actually read or seen one before. And I can't go back and try to find one to see if I'm doin' it right because I'm fairly certain I might not ever make it back here. And to be real honest, I'm pretty excited to have gotten this far- so there's no going back. I'm practically part of the Matrix at this point- call me Trinity. I'll write for days. I'm gonna' fill this thing up, after all, for all I know, I may never see this page again. To further confess my technological resistance, I've never sent a text message- although I have received two. I HATE checking my work email. At the beginning of this year I had over 700 unread messages, and the technology guru had to be called in to clear it off, although really, it was a waste of time. I still don't check it. I used to send emails to one of my kid's teachers, and found out months later that they had all been sitting in the "outbox." I still don't get that. Shouldn't they go out when you press send? Now I can only imagine what you must be thinking..."I don't remember an 80 year old woman in my writing class." Perhaps you're even thinking 90, because I'm sure some 80 year olds are more computer savvy than myself, or maybe you're picturing Nell in the back of the classroom utttering monosyllabic grunts, trying to comb her hair with the keyboard. And that's not all. I rarely check my answering machine- it's just one button, come on- I can totally do that. Sunday, there were 14 unchecked messages. I check my mailbox about once a week- that's about how often it HAS to be emptied so that more crap can fit in it. I would no sooner have direct deposit than I would go through the drive thru at the bank. Why? I'm not totally sure. It just seems like the world moves too fast. I'd just rather be in the moment, enjoying whatever I'm doing at that time. I really feel like I could make a full time job out of weeding through emails, junkmails, phone messages and all that stuff they put in my box at work. I won't lie. I miss some important things, and my water has been cut off twice before, OK, almost three times. I think the biggest reason I choose not to join the modern world is because I value relationships over convenience. I have gotten to know Paola and Jacqueline at the bank, and this really funny lady who always works at Wendy's on Sundays who gives me the senior citizens discounts- now you can't get that through the drive thru- she only works the dine-in cash register. I can only guess she must have figured my life expectancy based on the number of classic bacon cheeseburgers that I eat, and given my age in Wendy's years, I was able to qualify for the discount a few decades early. Now that's integrity- you won't find that at McDonalds. Emails, phone calls, and drive thrus just aren't the same. Not to mention, while I'm doing all that stuff I could be readin' a book to my kids or playin' ball or something. That's pretty much it. That's the nutshell in a crazy. And then again, when I see my parents' rotary phone it occurs to me that perhaps it's just a bad technology gene passed down from one generation to the next, and I have just managed to attach a nobel purpose to it. If I can figure out how to get pictures of my children and husband on this golb, bolg, blog, whatever it is, maybe that will speak more for why I don't like to waste my time than this commentary ever could.