What does one write about?

My last two posts were about toilets. Can it be that I am hurting for material? Yes, it can. Indulge me for a moment, if you will, in some total honesty.

What does one write about? It's mostly ephemera, what I write. (Hopefully) Somewhat witty observations that people can relate to. Things about everyday life that I find funny and want to share with the people I wish I could see more of. Giving everyone their long distance dose of quirky Cyndiness.

But what happens in between the spaces? There are places where I feel distinctly unfunny, and unoriginal, and unentertaining, and unsignifi.. erm insignificant. Not in a low self esteem sort a way. In a "what do have to say that's worth saying?" sort of way.

Babies are an excellent source of growth and change to report. Full of progress and promise and adorable vibrant loveliness. For whatever reason, I'm just not part of that club. I do have my beautiful boys. And they too are still full of that glorious crooked child art that delights and challenges. I glory in it when it comes, but all three are fast becoming little men. Change is slower, stories less frequent. I'm down to one cat now. So that rich source of material has been drastically reduced.

What do I write about? I could do a weekly post about a work of art. But that would be much more likely to bore people to tears than entertain them. If anyone out there in the ether has a sleep disorder, let me know. I'll hook you up.

I suppose I'll just have to think about it. But I am completely open to topic suggestions. Of course now this puts the pressure back on me to feel embarrassed when someone reads this post and at the bottom is the "0 comments" tag. Oh well. Risk and reward and all that.

I'll come up with something soon. I promise. Failing that, I will find a way to record myself doing a cartwheel and post it. But I warn you, Depends will be strictly necessary for viewing. It's that funny. For real, yo.

Cyndi