wrapped up like a dooce...

So today has been really slow at work, and I asked Julie for some website suggestions to occupy my time since I can only check and re-check and re-re-check my email so many times before feeling like my life has little to no meaning each time I'm confronted with "no new messages."

Her suggestion: dooce, which I've now created a link to on my page. WARNING: language may not be suitable for younger audiences. *huzzah!*

I should have thought of this already, because back when the term "online" was still met with responses akin to "on-who?" and "hububububub?" - Julie was already a dooce devotee. I vaguely remember her telling me about this girl, who I believe had, at this juncture, just recently been fired from her job for writing about her dissatisfaction in this very blog.

As I said before, it has been and still is a REALLY slow day at work *staring a little too long at the clock to let the reality of the current time - NOT YET 3pm - sink in* and I've had a chance to look through all dooce's pictures and read her most recent posts, and I'm just now embarking on her "Dooced" entries. Dooced is a term coined by said blogstress to mean "having been fired from one's job after writing about it on the internet." I'm paraphrasing, despite the quotes, but these entries include the posts leading up to/posts during/and posts....post - job loss.

Let me interject here for a moment to say that I've always loved writing. Every time we had a writing assignment in school - particularly one with creative freedom - I've really enjoyed it. And (starting a sentence with a conjunction - take that grammar ranger!) I feel like it's something I'm actually kind of adept at (strike two!). I also really like reading memoirs or autobiographies, especially if I've never heard of the person before. I just find it fascinating that people can write about themselves, and on top of that, write so entertainingly about themselves, that someone wants to publish it, and subsequently, someone(s) want to buy it.

I was talking about wanting to write my own memoirs one evening with Jessica and Julie and Jessica last year at some bar in Dallas, the name of which now escapes me.

NOTE TO READER: There is a group of friends of which I am a part, that we've (or Jessica R.'s boyfriend Alex) has dubbed "The Girls." We have all gone to school together since elementary/middle school, and we've remained friends and grown closer over the years, most notably the years after graduating high school and throughout college. This group consists of Julie Whitaker (see: JulesDWit link), Jessica Williams, and Jessica Roberts, or Yessica Boberts as she yearns to be called. So when I refer to them, you'll (who'll?) know who I'm talking about. Well, provided that you've read this post, that is. Blast.
END OF NOTE TO READER.

(From left: Yessica, Julie, me, and Jessica) My hair doesn't look like this anymore.

Okay, so I was talking to 'the girls' about this desire of mine, because I think I had just finished reading "Dry" by Augusten Burrows. I was explaining that I would love to write my memoirs, but I was afraid that my life just wouldn't be that interesting on paper. Or at least not interesting enough to break even on the expenses of writing and publishing (insert pipe dreams here) an entire novel. Comfortingly, Yessica replied by saying that no one's life is that interesting, some people just know how to write about it. She's very eloquent, and I'm sure she said it with more pizazz, but you get the point.

To come full circle, dooce's blog is kind of like this. Her posts make me laugh out loud, and all she's doing is recounting daily occurrences that everyone deals with in some form or fashion. She has a way of writing that establishes all these events, whether it's her husband sealing (or talking about sealing) the fence, or her daughter peeing all over her, as monumentally significant...not because she says they are, but because I think they are. It's just helped me realize that all those times I sign on to my blog and think I don't have anything interesting to say....I should just say it anyway.

It kind of gives me a way to have an appreciation for the happenings in my life that might seem trivial. And it validates my ever waning sense of self-worth. Right.