On one level, this is a story about how my therapist, Arun, elicited from me my first primaeval scream. But on another level, it's a story about how boring I can be.
Go back a dozen years. I've decided to start my first blog. Now, I was raised up to talk somewhat like an academic. That is, to leave people out of the conversation and instead discuss things in almost purely abstract terms. So my first blog posts were dry as the deep valley desert.
They kind of went like this, "Love might be considered an emotion by a competent observer, but such an observer might also note that love can be, and is at times, a way of looking at the word; a distinct and perhaps coherent perspective," Blah, blah, blah.
The blog went nowhere. No one commented on the posts, and I soon lost interest.
Then, a few years later, I begin therapy with Arun. He suggests I start blogging as a way of "exercising my brain". I say I tried that, and it didn't work. So he asks to read my blog.
Next session, Arun is visibly agitated. "You know nothing of blogging! Nothing! You've got it all wrong! All wrong!" Then he goes on to tell me -- to command me -- to start illustrating my points with stories about myself or others.
Six months go by and Arun is still nagging me to start a blog. Finally, I do. And I take his advice, too, even though I'm at first embarrassed as hell to write about myself. At first, it's just too personal for me. But I start winning a few rewards and that's encouraging.
Another six months goes by. All the while, I'm dying to know what Arun thinks of my blog. Finally, I ask.
"I don't know what I think of your blog because I never read blogs. Yours included."
Suddenly, I can think of nothing but to release a primaeval scream!
