Growing Out of Mush

Do you ever notice that it’s been quite a while since I wrote about love? Yeah, it’s been months now. And do I wanna write about it again? Hmm, lemme see. Uh, no, I reckon not. And why not? I’m not sure I can answer that. Perhaps I just find it corny. Maybe I’m on a writer’s block or something. Maybe I think there’s more to life to write about than love. Or maybe, I’ve just grown out of mush.

I remember those days when I would just sit in front of my computer, connect to Blogger.com, type some senseless paragraphs, and that’s it, I’d written mush. It was really easy to do it. The words would just pop inside my head and I’m done. No thinking. No research. No consultation. No nothing. Just type and type and I’d got a new post on my blog.

Why would I write mush, anyway? Things have been happening in my life so fast, loads of them, to be exact. I’d rather write about my new hobby, my friend’s new perfume, or my horrible traffic experiences than write mush and seem so stupid to others. I guess they’re more important to me now than they were before. Love’s last on the list to be the subject of my articles. Or perhaps, second to the last. One thing is sure. It’s the least of my worries.

I had just written about a broadcast issue, which seems so far-fetched to people who personally know me. I think it’s the broadcast major in me. You know, all those communication theories being taught at school and stuff. And hey, of course I learn something in my classes! I’m not pretending here, if you don’t mind me telling you. I suppose I’ve become more mature that I pay more attention to the real world than corny stuff like mush.

Maybe I’m no longer in love. Maybe I’m over it.

I’ve grown out of mush.

And I like it.