In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Mystery Wrapped in an Enigma.”
This daily prompt tasks us to write about something most people don’t know about me. As I sat down to start it, I thought: this is kind of arrogant, just writing about myself. But what is blogging, really?
1. In high school, I played timpani with the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra.
2. I have three half brothers and a half sister, none of whom I’ve met.
3. In college, I worked under the table in a florist’s shop.
4. I evaded an attack in Krakow by the Nowa Huta Creeper. (My name for him.)
5. I’m scared of the dark, afraid there are vicious drooling dogs waiting to bite my butt.
6. I talk to myself. To be fair, while people don’t know this about me, if they spend any amount of time with me, they learn.
7. In high school and college, I smoked a lot of weed. I would write the deepest stuff, man. If I’m honest, I don’t know how deep it really was, but some parts of it I really liked. I wrote a story off one of the lines, “I want to be laid upon the (something I don’t remember) and held. Held until my fear subsides. Held until my circle stops moving.” It was about what happens when my circle stops. It was the first story I’d started and finished, and it kind of wrote itself. It was awesome.
Do these things make me mysterious? Or Enigmatic? (Love that word.) I think they just point to a rich inner terrain, and I think it’s true of us all.
Do you agree? Why or why not?