It seems as though thought goes in cycles. About a year or so, the same ideas and notions seem to enter into my brain. It would likely help if I were to write things, if not here, then somewhere, as often as possible. Eventually the pattern would start to show itself.

I only mention this because I was perusing this space from last year, just before I was getting ready to leave for Europe. And I had a rant about people having this need to hook up and have babies without considering the consequences of their actions. Which is essentially exactly what I wrote about 3 days ago, while planning a trip I will take in about a month to central America. Does central America count as a different continent from the one I am on? Same time zone, same electrical outlets. I’m not sure if it counts. At any rate, I find it more than a little distressing that I might be predictable when it comes to what I tend to do year after year. Where’s the growth in that?

I also find it kind of depressing that in over a year I haven’t found anything new to rant about.  Though perhaps I feel comfortable in this rant because it’s something I can be assured is not going to go out of style, or cause a revolution. People will continue to procreate, no matter how I feel about it, as a result, I’ll have something to complain about. It’s far more interesting than complaining about the weather after all. Far less common as well.

Perhaps the reason I come back to this rant is because of some deep seated desire I have (being a woman in her early 30s) to become impregnated myself. I rail against the idea perhaps because of some insecurity with regards to nature finding me worthy of implanting. Perhaps I am barren, infertile, realize this at some core level and so plant the seed (as it were) that I never wanted children anyway! It’s an old defence mechanism, but it’s still gold. I don’t actually believe that, but it’s certainly a possibility that has entered my mind.

The more curious thing I find, more so than raving about the same things over and over (like humans do) is that it seems to pop up just before I’ve decided it’s time to go travelling yet again. Not that it didn’t pop up at some other time, I just wasn’t as aware of it. It’s a very common rant for me. I’m pretty sure it’s typically the thing that inspires most guys who might be interested in me to run far, far away.  Guys are funny that way, they always proclaim that they want to meet a girl who won’t put any pressure on them to get married and have babies but when they do, they suddenly change their story. ‘I meant someone who wouldn’t pressure me to get married and have babies right now. I mean, later, I might, I don’t know…” Bitches.
And I digress yet again!

Perhaps the reason I seem to end up here before I travel is either

a) because on some level I feel as though I’m being silly galavanting off to other countries when I should be settling down and finding myself  a nice mate to move in with before we start buying furniture together and learning each others quirks and working out a schedule for who makes breakfast on the weekends and how we’ll divide up the use of the car because it doesn’t make sense to have more than one car if we’re going to live in the city, and (…ew…wait wasn’t I the one who had the gall to suggest that I’m nowhere near cynical towards relationships? Perhaps I should rethink that.) perhaps we should live in the country and have dogs and goats and chickens and perhaps a little baby or two with good practical names like Tesla and Wilhemina, but we’ll call her Billie for short. Um. Yeah.

or b) perhaps I feel the need to reiterate how I feel with more than just thoughts because once something is written it’s much more real in my opinion, and my brain doesn’t want me going off to some foreign country and falling in love with the culture, the language, the food, the color, the dancing, the customs, the locals (or at least one in particular) and ending up doing my part to make the world smaller by contributing to making multiculturalism a reality!

or c) the fact that I am wildly intelligent and unbelievably interesting is a illusion I have maintained for a good long time now, but the facade is crumbling, disintegrating into a feckless expression of recycled vanity with no hope for cohesive reconditioning.

Or perhaps I’m making too much out of something that’s really not a big deal. I tend to do that exact thing. All right then, that likely means it’s time to find something new to rant about (until next year, when the kid thing will probably come up again) or just write about something that’s actually interesting. It won’t happen every day. I wonder how many every days it took John Steinbeck to come up with interesting. Apparently he treated writing like an actual job. Got up in the morning, sat down at his desk, wrote from 9-5. I know he wrote many things, many characters that had a sense of realism to them, but after I’ve read one of his books I always feel a little bit like I’ve just watched the news. Slightly depressed and not sure if I learned anything I wanted to take with me. That doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s a great writer. I especially like the wayward bus. Mostly cuz there’s a bus in it. I loves buses muchly.

Ok, enough for now. A la prochain…