This person seemed quite happy about my writing trash, and didn't seem at all to imply that I should take this term applied to my writing as an insult.
So I didn't.
I took it as a compliment.
I cannot help but take it to mean that without anything substantial happening in my life I can still put words on paper the screen. And dang it, I can tell you that this is one thought that just fills me with hope for actually finishing something that I wrote. Some day.
But I was also left wondering about this whole blog-writing-thing and all that it really entails, as well as what it means to comment. And the wondering went sort of like this:
Me: Oh this one here that she wrote is a really good post. I should comment something witty and different.
Me too: You already did. Only it's not witty, nor is it different. Actually, if I'm completely honest, it doesn't make that much sense. How much did we drink last night?
Me: What are you saying? We didn't drink at all. Remember? We went to bed early, read some Umberto Eco without really paying much attention to the words or their meanings, and finally just kind of nodded off. The light was still on in the morning, and Umberto was comfortably tucked under the covers against our breast.
Me too: We didn't drink any wine? Really? What are we trying to do? Sober up?
Me: Hmph. You know what. We were really discussing some more pressing issues than our wine consumption.
Me too: ???
Me: We were talking about commenting on that there post and how we'd already done it without having any recollection of it, and how that might mean that we actually could have dementia or amnesia or some such thing, in which case it is really awesome that we have this here blog we ourselves write so that we can always go back and read about that suspicious goo in our hair or how much we love Mexico City.
Me too: No we weren't. Were we?
Me: Yes. See? You've already forgotten. Next thing I know I'm gonna find your car keys in your shoe and then you're not going to be able to recognize me when you look in the mirror in the morning.
Me too: So what you're saying is that we already have dementia or amnesia or some such thing?
Me: No. I'm saying you do.
And that, my good people, is how a brain is not supposed to function. This is what is supposed to come out:
I'm left wondering whether people really realize what they are projecting out into the world when they click on that orange publish button, or whether I myself understand how someone might interpret a post I've written or a comment I've made. Is it just a little too easy to 'put it out there' without realizing what your words might do once you release them into the blogosphere?
Why am I getting a weird voice over feeling here, reminiscent of the ending of an episode of Sex and the City? Disconcerting. I'm not at all that type. It might be that I'm developing some such new and until- now-kept-at-bay-by-Toni-Morrison personality as 'Chick-lit Extranjera', or 'Treat-me-like-shit-Mr-Big Extranjera'. Very disconcerting.
Never mind that.
I would like to think I wear my values on my sleeve, even on this blog, and that people who have actually taken the time to get to know me and read some of my posts know what I stand for. But is it really that apparent, and am I reading much too much into other people's posts regarding their values and personality. Or are they really as funny, as intelligent, as open, as tolerant, as compassionate, and as delightfully off the hook as they seem? As for the people I met at Blog Camp, I think they turned out to be even more so in person, but as for the rest of you...
I'll just have to keep on wondering, unless anyone is interested in Blog Camp - South Africa? Yes, you are allowed to be weird, but only good weird. I'm not putting up anyone who wants to bring a) parts of anyone else or b) their mother.
Here is some actual trash, from my trash can, to spice things up a little bit. You're welcome!