I’m a boring person. I’m starting to think I am.
Awhile ago, david and I are eating dairy queen in gateway. We’re silent for a few minutes, separately savoring softserves before the realization of routine sinks in.
You see, we’ve been doing this for four weeks straight already. Every Friday after dinner we get the same dessert. But this entry is not about couples being stuck in a rut, it’s about me as an unexciting gf.
I acted cheery and told him some stories about work. He listened patiently while I babbled about rainforestation and planting native tree species.
On our way home, he asked about my opinion on the recent hostage drama, my answer irked him. We’ve always had opposing views. I sometimes accuse him of being a devil’s advocate.
My current read is Ben Yagoda’s The Sound on The Page, it’s very insightful and informative I have to share bits of it to someone. Ofcourse, I turned to david and told him Erickson’s observation that a lot of writers have speech impediment like Winston Churchill, Jorge Luis Borges, Lewis Caroll, which made Erickson believed that “a stutter becomes a writer”. It may sound dead boring and utterly trivial but I can relate.
At home, I continued reading my book while david sat beside me, staring at something only he can see.
I blurted something about writing fiction. He said I already did. Oh yeah, he remembered my short stint as a ghostwriter for adult fiction during my freelancing months. He was so amused about it. He thought I was writing porn. It’s only 5k words. Obviously, it’s not counted. I’m thinking more like, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, with all the meticulous and elaborate descriptions.
I bored him more by telling the connection between music and writing, how good writers produce rhythmical sentences.
From what I can tell on his facial expression, he was being polite and probably wandering why penguins can’t fly.