Rosetta Stone

Today was a super-productive day, in that I might have finished two whole stories/essays.
In the world of writing, this is practically the speed of sound.
I don't know why I can sit at my computer for days on end and struggle to get out maybe two sentences, and why today I can have pages and concepts fly out of me. That's part of the mystery I guess. It's not necessarily hit or miss, it's more hit or foul ball.
One of my best friends said something to me today that made me stop and take notice. She is one of the three people who read this blog (including myself) and, knowing me very well, is quite adept at calling me out. Today she said, "You know I noticed something. You write a lot about your "heart" for someone who soooo knowingly and admitedly disobeys it constantly." All I could say was "Touche!" because it's true. I don't know why I do this, why I can't write about funny things or those basic silly ancedotes that are Mitch Albrom-esque (the guy who wrote Tuesdays with Morrie and The Five People You Meet In Heaven or whatever it is) or something vaguely vomitous, a la Chicken Soup For the Soul. I can't do the whitty puns like Sarah Jessica Parker's Carey Bradshaw, or the NPRish deep politcal thoughts of Sarah Vowell or David Sedaris.
Wow that was a paragraph of name dropping, if I (1) knew any of those people, or (2) was actually consciously trying to drop names. I mean, I reference Chicken Soup for the Soul. Don't be impressed.
So why do I write this way? Why ramble the way I ramble? Why so much about the heart when its the very thing I know the least about? I guess that's it. Writing is the Rosetta Stone to the rest of me. I knowingly and deliperately disobey my heart in favor of my head, but that does not mean I deny it. I want to see it, and others hearts, in a more clear light.