The importance of having life experiences is so you can write about them and hopefully remember them. But sometimes after I take myself out of my comfort zone long enough to have them I don't have the energy to write about them. I just seem like there's so much to say, too much to comprehend, digest and put into a concise treatise. So I don't write about them. I used to enjoy writing so much, what the heck happened?
On the 30th of March, my friend and I made a pact that for the month of April we would have one life experience worthy of talking about. We always seem to call each other ever so often without anything noteworthy to talk about. We would ask each other, "So what's new?" But nothing ever was. So we promised to have something new and exciting happen to us - to make it happen. We struck a deal to make that happen, so at our next phone call, on the 30th, we would exchange information on the new and exciting event(s) in our lifes over the past month. It's pathetic I know, but it goes back to what I was saying about life experiences...we should try to have them as much possible, make them happen, take yourself out of your comfort zone and do something, Live.
On Friday - I did nothing. I was too tired and had waay too much laundry to do. Was supposed to go to a photographer's exhibition a stone throw from me, but it closed at 4pm, so I hoped to go the next day.
On Saturday - I did nothing, for the early part of the day. I didn't even work out. I went to Gwinnett to get my contacts, glanced the surburbian hell-hole I used to live in and thanked my lucky stars I do not live there anymore. Later on in the evening, in need of much excitement, I went to the lounge bar in the next building. It was interesting. I have talked about this to in my previous posts, but needless to say, it was okay fun. The only thing that's worthy of note that I haven't talked about is how I keep feeling, within the first hour of these things, How I am too old for this Shit. From the time I mull over what to wear that won't make me look too old, or too fat, to the time I first arrive and I glance the prospects, and the little girls arrive looking all hot to trot and I am over there with my face all wrinkly and ashamed of why I am middle aged and still doing this, to the time the first couple of drinks (which are always hard to order because the bartenders are too mesmerized by how old I am to serve me, but on the otherhand when they do they do not card me) sets into my system and I decide I might as well have fun. Something tells me I am not going to find Mr. Right at any of these "too old" atmospheres. I just go for the life experience benefit, to have something to tell my children (if I ever have any) to have something to comprise my memoirs. Overall, it beats sitting in front of the TV wishing something exciting would happen.
On Sunday - I went to Dogwood Festival at Lenox. This was big for me because I have heard it advertized for so many years but due to logistics, I have not been able to attend. This year it was so close to me, didn't have to worry about parking etc, so why not. It was like a festival. A little like Helen but in a confined space. Lots of food, heart-clogging, all-american clog-your-heart food, lots of art, lots of photography, most importantly lots of overpriced art, maybe because of the venue or to cover overheard costs, but an 8x10 photo going for $25 was a bit much. The scene was picturesque, kinda made me wish I brought a camera.
No comments:
Post a Comment