I like to think I’m quite good at a lot of things. I actually like to think that I’m extremely good at a lot of things. But, in reality, and if I’m being one hundred per cent honest, I know that I’m not.
Sometimes I’m better than others, sometimes worse. Sometimes I’m so terrible I wonder why I even bothered to start in the first place. And sometimes I wonder if it was me that had actually done what I’d done (for better or for worse, it works either way).
But what, I hear you ask in frustration, are these ‘things’ I’m rabbiting on about? Well, I shall tell you, in a roundabout* way.
Anything I do.
Everything I do.
Writing. Reading. Creating unique pieces of computer art. Communicating. Listening. Remembering. Sleeping. Dreaming. Sneezing.
Everything I do, I’ll do it differently the next time.
I write a good piece… I then write a terrible one (complete with speling errors!).
I read the first so many fabulous chapters of an un-put-downable book, and then forget that I’d even started it.
I flourish and embellish and exaggerate and colour-in some work of art which wouldn’t look out of place in trendy art galleries anywhere around the world, and when I next look at it, it’s as though, well, a strange computer virus has attacked my art software and distorted whatever I have done.
I’ve never been a great communicator, verbally, but sometimes I’m magnificent. I really, truly, deeply am.
I have one good ear and one not so good one (just the two!), so I miss a lot of what I’m being told… and sometimes make up my own words to try to catch up, thus getting other things wrong. Sometimes hilariously so (especially when I’m singing along to a song. Enya’s Orinoco Flow will always contain the line Save the Whale, Save the Whale, Save the Whale, as that is how I first heard it many centuries ago).
I remember that line as it was oh so wrong, but can I remember any others? Nope! The tune, yes… well, most of it. I even forget people who I sit next to at work occasionally. Sigh.
Sometimes, I sleep soundly. Other times, I wake about fifty times during the night. Sometimes, I sleep too heavily and feel dreadful, and other times I love waking and sleeping on and off all night long.
I love my dreams. I remember some, but not all. Sometimes I dream regularly, sometimes I don’t. Currently, I’m somewhat in the middle…
And sneezing… sometimes, I break the sound barrier as I sneeze that loudly… other times, I stifle a little achoo in a corner somewhere.
Completely inconsistent. But always me.
It’s the core that matters anyway, not the inconsistencies. Well, that’s how I feel about it. Most of the time.
This post has been written in response to Sideview’s Weekend Theme, which this week is Inconsistency… *I didn’t participate in last week’s theme, Swings and Roundabouts, so I added a little sideways mention at the beginning there. If you’d like to participate in Sideview’s weekly challenge pop along to her site, and have a look at some other posts written by other bloggers who may not be as inconsistent as me. I.
Incidentally, the words Inconsistent and Inconsistency were first used in a decade very close to my heart. Yes, that’s right. Between 1640 and 1650 the word came into existence.
Is it just by chance that I’m as inconsistent as I am, looking at that rather random coincidence of timing? Synchronicities are never far away… and I have found another link to my 1642 Quest… although its meaning is as allusive as with all of the other links I have found. Answers will be along soon, I’m sure of it. I just have to ask the right questions first of all!
I still feel good though, even with all the questions, answers and inconsistencies. And that, as a good core, is all that matters…