speed-bagThe search for a theme has been a regular voyage of self-discovery. And a bad idea. Ill-advised, rash, hare-brained, all of the above. I could kick myself for not leaving well enough alone.

You and I both know I’m a slacker. I don’t pretend otherwise. Many years ago, a teacher pointed out my general lack of ambition in a report card comment. It said, and I’m quoting from memory, ‘Lisa hurries through her work and makes many careless mistakes.’ Okay, that crack has dogged me since I was 8, a third-grader. I can’t shake it.

Maybe she was trying to alert my parents, but they knew. Duh. I’ve coasted all my life and I’m still doing it. Coasting along the path of least resistance. It’s not an attractive quality. I’m game for anything, though, as long as it’s fun and easy. As soon as the smallest effort is required, adios, I’m done. Schoolwork, swimming, cooking, getting dressed — I do just enough to get by.

Now? This. Blogging. I expect the theme to do the work I should be doing. I want the theme to get your attention, be entertaining, not me. I’d have to spend time thinking and writing and revising and editing and rewriting and polishing and proofreading. Are you kidding me? That’s heavy lifting — hard, thankless work. Sheesh. Why strain myself when the theme just sits there, not lifting a finger?

Of course, talent would make this easier, so I’ll need a boatload, please. That’s when it hit me: talent doesn’t grow like hair and toenails, it has to be developed. The only way to get a plentiful supply is to work hard and long. Put nose to grindstone, go hammer and tongs. Whoa, my head spun, my knees wobbled —  I’d been sucker-punched by reality. Pow, right in the kisser. Hammer and tongs? What the hell?

You know what else I discovered? Design should be left to the professionals. It’s an art. I’ve no business selecting typefaces when I can’t tell a serif from an italic. My spatial intelligence is severely limited, as well, and I gravitate toward the same style of imagery regardless of tone and subject and content. Designers, bless their trendy little hearts, know this stuff. I’m missing more than a few clues.

Sure, I don’t know anything about punctuation, either, and I haven’t let that stop me. But, I don’t mind looking the fool. And that’s a good thing, because like Popeye, ‘I yam what I yam.’ Imagine the workload if I tried to change my whole damn self. Oy.

And vey.

copyright © 2015 little ittys

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