sometimes, a limerick

There's something about a limerick. 

I don't know what it is. That tradition of being slightly (or very) naughty? The sing-song rhyme that we all know so well? It's like a very grown-up children's song.

It is a very strange thing, but I think in rhymes. A lot of poets (I think) think in images, but I think in sounds and rhythms. I will have nearly fully formed limericks pop into my head at random --no, really. I have also been known to begin written communications with the line, "There once was a man from Nantucket ...," but I digress (rapidly).

In case you are not familiar, or are not a native English speaker, or are neither familiar with limericks nor are a native English speaker, limericks work like this:

• The rhyme scheme is AABBA, with the A lines ending with words that rhyme with each other and the B lines ending with words that rhyme with each other.
• The rhythm of the A lines is generally baDUMbadaDUMbadaDUMdum, and the rhythm of the B lines is generally baDUMbadaDUM. There is a fancy way of saying that for poets, but limericks aren't exactly fancy, so I'll keep my explanation simple.
• The theme is usually racy or silly (or both --bonus points for both!).
• Nonsensical words are allowed and even encouraged. If it doesn't quite rhyme, you are allowed to change words so it does. Same goes for grammar --make errors, it's okay.

This morning, I woke up with a limerick in my head, which I will now share with you as an example; then, I would challenge you to run off and try your own as it's a fun way to practice mental gymnastics.

Example limerick:

I find I'm in need of a coffee

Don't need one that's fancy or toffy

Just fill up my mug

(It's my kind of drug!)

Or I'll spend the day like old dead Gaddafi

Why not give it a try? Can't be worse than that one!

confessions of a raging egomaniac

Yes I am confessing to egomania, and naturally, I will write a blog post to share my confessions since I couldn't possibly write them down in a diary and lock them away.

I am a raging egomaniac.

There. I've said it.

I write and I share what I write, so by definition, I think there is something in what I say that others might want to read. That's a peculiar idea: I write, so read me. If you do not read me, what was the point of writing?

The truth is, I would write either way --I am a compulsive writer. I just hope that there is a purpose for my writing. Is that ego? It feels like it because I feel slighted, inadequate, etc. when what I've written doesn't connect, doesn't work, doesn't get read. Why do I bother? What makes me think I'm so special? On some level, though, I must think I'm special because I've taken the time to put my thoughts down on paper (or in the computer). Surely I think highly of my thoughts to spend the effort?

Is that raging egomania?

Over a year or so ago, I would have said yes, but what a difference a year makes. There are enough people in the news nowadays where I guess egomania is all relative.

On reflection, there is nothing wrong with wanting to communicate to other humans. There is nothing wrong with trying your best to craft something that speaks to someone. If it is not taken the way it's meant, that's okay --there was nothing wrong with the attempt. 

And the feeling of disappointment when something you've written goes nowhere in terms of audience or acceptance? That is a natural thing. You write with hope, but there are no assurances. It's okay to hope, and you will survive the disappointment to try again.

Oh, and the reason I put this in a blog post and not in a diary? It's a bit of a message in a bottle, isn't it? We send our thoughts out into the world because what else is there? So please keep writing and sharing.

That's not ego; that's human.