Something to Chew On

I didn't sleep a lot last night. I was chewing on something that a dear friend, whose opinion I respect, said in a comment to my blog. She suggested I should put these blog entries into some sort of book format. It's an interesting thought. Over the years many people have said, "You should write a book" but mostly about what's happened in my life. But truth is often stranger than fiction and nobody would believe half of what has gone on in my life and would swear it was fiction. You just can't make up a life like mine. You can't. And trust me, you wouldn't want to, either!

Oddly enough I used to write a lot of poetry. I put together a couple of homemade books for friends and distributed them (after I copyrighted them with the copyright office!). I've been published a time or two. A newspaper, a magazine, a couple of poetry anthologies where they'll publish you after you "win" a prize and pay for a copy of the book. Ah, I didn't care. It was cool. I still have the books somewhere. But I stopped writing poetry the last time my heart got ripped out. I decided poetry wasn't helping me emotionally and I wasn't interested in continuing to probe the open wound.

So I have been thinking about what the real "Ramblings of a Mutant Penguin" short story collection would consist of and would I really want to share it with others. Blogging *is* sharing my thoughts with others, whether it be just my usual ramblings or my crafty rantings or anything else.

I also know that I would just embarass everyone if they knew how truly overly emotional I am. I am a large person. My heart is probably way too big for this big body. And so overly sensitive that it's painful sometimes to be me. I sometimes wonder why God gave me such a huge capacity to love and yet made me so afraid to share it. I deeply love my family and friends. I am friendly to everyone but it takes a lot for me to really let someone in and truly care for them. I'm pretty selective. Well, that's what I like to think and it's true for the most part but as I grow older I find myself expanding the circle of those I let into my heart. Some of them are old friends, some new, some in-between. There are people I still love who probably haven't thought about me in years and a few who could care less whether I exist anymore or not. I hold old hurts for a long time. I wound easily. But I also care deeply and so while you may not ever even remember my name, I remember you. I would make a wonderful spy. Nobody pays attention to the fat lady. In fact, for the most part they do their best to pretend you're not there. So I could hear all kinds of things and pass them along and nobody would ever know. Yup, good old Mata Mutant Penguin. :)

So, dear Brooke, while I have spent a lot of time thinking about putting all these ramblings and rantings into book form, they're doing OK right here.

I dedicate this to those who live in my heart, the old, the new, the in-between. For my mom, my brother, my daughter Ally, my son Andy, my dear friends Rae, Jeannie, Bev, Sherry, Jolene, Nanette, Vicky, Merry, Victoria, Brooke, Julie, Linda, Roni, Amy, Tracy, Jayne, Klava, Kaylee, Heather, Devvy, Kathy, Susan (oh most definitely Susan who has adopted me!), David, Annie, Lisa, Leahna, Scott and Rick. Long after you have forgotten me or moved on in your life, know I have not forgotten you. For all of you, thank you for being part of my life, now, then and in the future. I don't need a book. I have a blog. Or two. :)