A writer’s block experiment.
That’s what this is. See, I knew I wanted to write a blog tonight because I’m trying to do that whole one blog a week thing, and I already skipped a week. Even though a blog a week doesn’t seem like much, if you’re anyone in my life you know I have a tremendous fear of commitment, whether it be a boyfriend or plans for Tuesday. Not because I’m one of those who always wants to see if something better comes along. Or maybe I am. Maybe some of the best things happen when you’re waiting for something better to come along because you don’t overanalyze what’s already coming.
As I said in an earlier blog, I really didn’t feel that close to too many friends in high school. So when sophomore year arrived, and the friends I did hang out with all had lunch a different period than me, I freaked. High school lunch is the one opportunity in the day to parade your social behavior around for the world to see just how you interact with your fellow humans.
If I had no humans to interact with, I would be that broody guy reading or doing his homework in the corner of a table. I would probably write some teen angst poetry. I would spend a weekend half filling a composition book with obscure lyrics and sketches so that when Erin McPherson, my high school crush, came over to say hi, she would think I was a broody mysterious biker type who could only get his true feelings out in these pages. She, nor anyone else, would know that I had carefully crafted my notebook of brood over a weekend to act as a prop should anyone come over. It would have never worked though, since I didn’t wear black, something broody notebook keepers do, and I was on the morning announcements, something broody notebook keepers never do.
That first lunch sophomore year I failed to plan. I should have scanned the room while others were getting their lunches to see whom I met know and join. But I wanted the damn pepperoni roll as soon as possible. I went straight into the lunch line. Upon exiting I found myself at the front of the cafeteria, holding a tray, with nowhere to go. I scanned. Quick, Mikey. Quick!
The first table was a few seniors I knew from my previous year as a member of the marching band. In high school, band is a commitment. We’re talking weeks out of the summer in a hot uniform learning how to march across a football field while playing “On Broadway.” What did we learn, kids? Mikey’s afraid of commitment. I lasted freshman year in band before I decided to chuck it for a public speaking class. Six or seven four-year band enthusiasts were now in front of me at the very first table.
“Want to sit down, Mikey?” It was Jackie, a majorette two years older than me who I’d had a crush on the previous year (yes, even I could have a crush on a girl every now and then).
“Sure, I can sit for now.” I said. Jackie started laughing.
“Until you find the real people you want to sit with?” Sorta. People didn’t hop around the lunch tables after the first day. Unless you found yourself in an Orange is the New Black drama, you stayed at your table for the year. Did I know this group well enough to stay with them for a year? Would they want me to? They were older and part of an establishment I had relinquished: high school band. It wasn’t quite Nicole Kidman escaping Scientology, but it was close. Was this just a pity invite because they saw me scanning the room and secretly planning my brood notebook in my head?
I laughed back at Jackie. “Nah,” I said. “I thought another friend of mine was here, but I think he had to move his to 6th period.” I lied. Then I sat down and…gasp…committed to the table. Me and a group of senior class flute players who were…awesome. Hilarious. Fun. Other than all of them graduating and leaving me at the end of the year to fend for myself again, I was happy I took what came up under my nose while I was “waiting for something better.”
Is that what writer’s block is like? I sat in front of this keyboard tonight for an hour waiting for inspiration for the perfect blog to come to me. I examined anything I thought would give me this inspiration. Then I thought, hell, the keys are right there, might as well just type. Eight hundred words later, and I’m trying to figure out how to end it because I’m enjoying this little trip I took to high school lunch land for the night.
This blog, maybe not the best thing I’ve ever written, but it’s made me content. Those lunch friends? I barely keep in touch with a one, but if I knew at the beginning of the year what I knew at the end, they would have been the group I was scanning the room for in the first place. Is there a moral? Something like don’t wait for perfect and you’ll find it? Or maybe on the benefits of joining the high school band, at least for a year. I don’t know.
Oh, and if anyone would like to buy a hand crafted brood notebook in case you don’t find your group of friends, I sell them for $9.99 in the gift shop.
love and pepperoni rolls,