There’s something about having nothing to write that makes me want to write something. I equate it to talking about the weather when there’s absolutely nothing else to talk about. I’ve done that exactly three times this week–once with my brother (who called for the first time in over a year), once at work today and once with the lady at the cosmetics counter at Walgreens.
But then, it has been humid this week. So I guess that’s something to talk about. No one likes humidity.
But here’s what I want to know (if we can stop and ponder for a minute): why do we talk about the weather, of all things? The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. It is, perhaps, the most common of all experiences. Sure, we could talk about what the water tastes like, but some of us don’t drink too much water and we get it from different sources. We could talk about how it is to breathe, or what it feels like when our hearts beat, but I suppose even those experiences vary a good deal from one person to the next.
Maybe the weather is the perfect topic. Quantifiable. Objective and subjective. Too bad there isn’t more to say about it, isn’t it?