Which Came First, the Rambler or the Writer?
Not everything I say is of importance. For instance, this post is because I simply can not decide what topic I want to jot about but I want to write. Perhaps these posts shouldn’t be published at all. Conceivably these rambles should remain an entry in my analog journal. I am not the only one who suffers the bouts of topic-lessness. Don’t you?
Not even with all my might can I force my hand to write, therefore, I’ll ramble. Funny, never have I suited the role of a damsel. Under distress and among chaos I shine. I am at my best. I am flunking this writer’s test. I digress.
Oftentimes words flow. Outpouring, out of control. Record rumbles exist scattered about. There is no doubt. Ambiguous thoughts are written yet not said aloud.
Writers write and ramblers ramble but I am a writer who likes to ramble. Such a shamble!! Others turn up their nose, this isn’t prose. But I suppose, to each his own. I’ll come down off my throne. Gimme a bone. I am not afraid of eating alone.
And maybe it goes like this: my writing ramble you dismiss. No worries. Still, I publish it. Not for you rather for me, can’t you see this written travesty? Or ramble. Whatever it may be.