Welcome to "Lara's Thoughts," the all-jumbled-up edition. I'll begin by jumping on a bloggy bandwagon going around today: Delurkification.
(Yes, I just made up a word. So sue me.)
I did this whole delurking thing once last year too, and I actually found some very cool bloggers through that post (Ffbgirl, Dee, and Dancing Dragon, for example). Having just posted a "please comment!" post last week, a delurking post seems redundant. However, I'll put it out there that if you're lurking, I'd love for you to pop in and say hello. I'm quite friendly, really!
Mostly, though, I spent today thinking about my own lurking. I'm not a true lurker on any of the sites I read, by which I mean that there aren't any sites on which I've never commented. There are, however, some blogs on which I rarely comment, and many on which I comment far less than I should. What determines if I "should" comment? I imagine the post as their contribution to a conversation - if someone said this to me in a face-to-face conversation, how would I respond? Rarely (though on occasion it has happened) do I read something that literally leaves me thinking, "Well, I just don't have anything to say about that." So if I have something to say, I think I should say it.
But the reality is that I don't have all the time in the world. I have a job, and I like to eat and sleep sometimes, and occasionally I try to talk to friends or go out and act like a socialized creature. So commenting every time I have even a remotely pertinent thought is, well, completely impractical. Unfortunately, this means there are many blogs on which I now only comment if I have something of Monumental Importance (or high comedic effect) to say.
So today, I made the effort to comment on every blog I read. And it felt good. I'm going to try to comment more often in the future, because I miss the conversational aspect of the blogosphere.
On a completely unrelated note, picture this:
You're driving on the highway, trying to eat your dinner en route to your destination. Sitting on the passenger seat is a greasy, day-old sandwich, pre-cut into bite-sized chunks that you can stab with a fork and bring to your mouth. In the cupholder between your seat and the passenger seat is a cup filled with ice and vanilla coke from which you take occasional drinks, thus ensuring your thirst is quenched and your caffeine addiction sated.
Suddenly, while bringing a bite to your mouth, you hit a small bump in the road, and the piece of sandwich that was so recently on your fork is now in your soda.
Do you still drink the soda?
You do if you're me.
And lastly, an incident from a few days ago that simultaneously amused and disturbed me. The kids and I are sitting at the table waiting for lunch, playing our daily "Guess What We're Having" game. Elfin says, "Maybe fish!" and I say, "Yum, I like fish."
Beloved responds, "Yeah, me too. I like tuna."
"That's right, tuna is a fish, Beloved," I say with a smile.
"Yep," she says. "But I only like the tuna that's fish. I don't like the tuna that's not fish."
Go ahead, read it again.
I wonder if she's been watching a lot of Jessica Simpson lately...