Back! Back!

Emma at Belgian Waffle is blogging again.  I have been delightedly reading her for days, and then this post of today reminded me that I should tell you she is BACK.

For it is good.

Also, as she says in her blog post; a lot of other most excellent bloggers are also back, which also makes me extremely happy.

Her blog post is based on this blog post by Non Working Monkey, who is, as Emma says, back too.

The premise of the post is to write down a list of things you are good at, and things you are bad at.  Emma has invited you to write in the comments box, but as we know, one of the things I am good at is writing A LOT.  Consequently it is just easier to write a post and do linky stuff.

Here goes:

Good

Writing a lot, about anything or nothing or everything. I am not necessarily talking about quality here, but by God I’m your woman if you’re looking for quantity.

Talking.  See above.  The words ‘hind leg’ and ‘donkey’ spring to mind.

Appreciating my food.  By rights I should be at least twenty stone. I am like a basking shark.  I zoom through life with my mouth open and my jaws whirring,  and my internal dialogue is mostly me going ‘nom nom nom,’ when it is not me going ‘rrrraaagh’.

Getting irritable about things that don’t really matter.  I spend a great deal of my life, when I am not eating, letting things get on my tits.  I can get irritated about almost anything you like, pretty much at the drop of a hat.  This leads to me being very good at writing letters signed: ‘Outraged of Broughton Astley’ and ranting on, while the children sigh and ignore me.

Reading.  I am never without a book.  I usually have at least six on the go at any one time.  The day I stop reading is the day I am either dead or pod snatched by aliens.  I am also good at reading out loud to small children, as Emma mentions. I get a lot of practice at this.

Finding life very, very funny.  I cannot quite reconcile this with the fact that I also find life very, very fucking annoying, but there you go.  I am either shouting at it, or laughing at it.

Shopping.  I am fantastic at shopping, except when I actually need something. Then I’m crap.

Being bone idle.  Some people worry about not working, or what they would do if they didn’t work, or feel guilty if they’re not zooming about all day achieving things, ticking stuff off lists.  I do not feel like this at all.  I can mostly do all the things that other people like this do, but generally I choose not to.  I thoroughly enjoy being feckless and lazy and refuse to apologise for it.

Being a mad cat lady.  I excel at this. In spades.

Stealing the duvet.  It is a natural talent.

Bad

I am dreadful at being employed.  I am the world’s worst employee. I do not see why I should do things that don’t make sense, for people I generally wouldn’t bother to spend time with, even after an apocalypse.

Sustaining things.  I get terribly enthusiastic about stuff and go into them heart and soul. Then I burn out.  Then I get terribly enthusiastic about something else. The only things that have bucked this trend are eating, reading and writing this blog.

Going to parties.  This should really be under the banner of socialising.  I am, it may surprise you to know, excruciatingly shy.  I hate meeting new people and generally feel totally naked, weird, freakish, in their company. I always talk too much when I first meet someone, always. Inside, while I am jabbering away on the outside I am having hysterics about my unfitness to be out in human company.  I always go home after a first meeting feeling appalled and ashamed of myself in equal measure.  After that, if we get to meeting number two, things are better for me (if not for them).  Third meetings generally involve me adopting whoever it is I am with for LIFE.  Parties, and the fact that they provide so many new people to meet, cause me to implode with trauma.

Doing anything competitive.  This includes board games. I hate thinking that what I am doing might mean success or failure for someone else. Although obviously I like people to succeed, but it seems like such a responsibility. I’d rather not join in thanks.  I just don’t care that much about it all. I know it is now becoming fashionable to believe in trampling on other people’s heads on the way up the greasy pole again.  I can’t like it.  I much prefer sitting at the bottom of the greasy pole with tea and biscuits and having a chat.

Learning something new.  I have got to the age where I rarely have to stretch my brain any more, and only in directions I please.  When forced to do something out of my comfort zone, like say, learning to drive;  I make a gigantic, Violet Elizabeth style melt down drama of it.

Being a girl.  It’s a bit of an effort isn’t it? I think I’d have done much better as a boy.  My breasts are a trouble and a burden to me for the most part and let us not delve into the world of lady gardens.

Keeping pot plants alive.

What are you good and bad at?

Write me a blog post, or drop comments in my comments box, Emma’s comments box or NWM’s comments box.  They started it.  It’s their fault.