Friday, April 22, 2011

V is for Vague

is for vague, which is what the idea that I had for today's part of the April Alphabetic Post Event.  Here's the deal: I had a post sort of floating around in my head for what I was going to write about today.  It had something to do with how I got my days sort of wrong, and how I wasted (well, not really wasted) T on St. Peaches Day.  Because I could have written T is for Toilet and talked about the Nummi that day instead of on "U" day, and then I could have written a post about all the swimsuits that I saw on my recent vacation that were little more than underwear.  Let's just that that there were a lot of people with very European tastes in swimwear.
     But anyway, that post is gone.  Well, not really, it is sort of there still in a vague sort of way because I have a fuzzy version of it sitting back behind my eyes, and I have the sort of rough framework that you need to begin a post, but the bulk of it, the really funny and entertaining parts of it, are long gone, or are never going to be created.  And that is how it goes with me more often than not.  There is an old saying about and among specialists in a subject.  For instance, if I were talking to a an expert in lunar exploration he would say "I've forgotten more about lunar exploration that you'll ever know" and he would probably be right.  Well, let me tell you that for most of you, I have lost more blog posts than you will ever write, and I am not saying that to try and put you down or pump me up.  When you have this weird idea that you need to write a blog post every Goddamned day for a couple of years, through sheer quantity and the laws of probability that is just how it goes.  Don't worry, get cracking and you will catch up eventually.
      Garrison Keillor wrote a forward to his book Leaving Home: A Collection of Lake Wobegon Stories (which by the way was the first grown-up book that I ever bought, for a dollar at a dollar store) about a story that he had written that was in the process of becoming the best story that he had ever written and which he lost in a bus station bathroom in Portland, Oregon.  He pined for that story, lusted over it, and almost wept for it.  And so it goes.  I feel the same way about a lot of the posts that I have had slip away from me over the years.  It goes away eventually, and something else comes along, but there is always that ghost slipped way back in your memory banks somewhere that just won't go away.  It is always there.  And it is always sort of vague.  I wish someday one of them would return.  Then V could be for Victorious.

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