living cliche

I talked to Scott the other day and he has a point. Believe me. I’ve thought the same thing a dozen times. He says that I really should quit this whole blogging business and starting writing my memoirs. He pointed out that we never know when it’ll be too late to get all that down on paper. He also mentioned he’d love to read his Grandma’s story. I reminded him I have about 8 booklets with her writings in it.

I guess that’s beside the point.

He said he’d like to know my first memory, all about my childhood family vacations, a little more about his own roots.

Seriously? None of that is a secret. I talk opening about all of that . . . so maybe someone could write their memories of me talking about it. Save me a lot of time and effort. Writing it all down is so laborious and brings back all sorts of unpleasant memories. [He told me to skip the bad parts.]

Here’s what cinched it for me. . . at least makes me want to give it another try. He said, “You know what? I could have just gone to your blog on October 10th, 2011 and I would have read the very same thing as what you wrote on October 10, 2012. The same thing! You are struggling with your weight, you went to General Conference and ate at Old Spaghetti Factory!”

OK. I’ll give him that. This whole thing has been very repetitive. I’m in a rut. I do the same things over and over. I’m a living cliche. I’m a big fat joke!

One thought on “living cliche

  1. jessica

    Aw, I hate your last paragraph!

    Writing can be so therapeutic and is much cheaper than ‘real’ therapy, so who cares if you’re repeating yourself? It’s a journal, it’s an outlet to vent, or cry, or rejoice. And (like you did) memoirs can be written here and then printed into a book using a service like Blurb.com or similar.

    Don’t give up!

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