I’ve taken an impromptu and unplanned sabbatical from blogging (writing) for oh, round about 6 months now. I’m not deluding myself into thinking you’ve missed me, but just in case you wondered…here goes.
First there was Thanksgiving then Christmas then I got knocked up. I get really, really sick while I’m pregnant, so I went to bed one night and didn’t get up for 3 months. (I’m seriously not kidding) I was already burning out on blogging anyway. (picture working furiously day after day in the daylight hours before family awakens building my magnum opus for no pay and finding out that social media is the crux of whether my blog makes it or breaks it) Super-yuck.
Then we had a pretty significant blow – we lost our baby at 18 weeks. Ouch. I kind of walked around like a numb-nut for a couple weeks and then went into some “Hyper-Mommy” mode. When you have four kids and you lay in bed for months, things really go down the crap-tube. I was making up for lost time and then my dusty laptop beckoned to me from its hiding place in my nightstand.
It purred and sang the song of its people when I started it up and knew I needed to write something. It had about 3 hours’ worth of stupid Windows 8 updates to complete so I mopped the floor instead of writing anything. Mother’s Day approached and I knew I needed to write an essay about how kick-ass my Mom is. I wrote notes in the morning while I dazed over my tea and got excited. Then I felt sorry for myself and got busy preparing for…Mother’s Day and I didn’t write anything but an essay of shopping lists and sticky notes reminding myself to call the dentist and buy some fat clothes. (the little gifts of pregnancy)
These last few days consisted of me yelling at my kids and threatening to drop-kick people in the face and my issues with anger and expectations surfaced again and forced me to have a “moment” with myself. I prayed and meditated and wrote notes and tried to come up with ideas as to why I would possibly want to strangle a small child.
I bought some cabinet locks and removed a few anger triggers (like diaper rash cream and open containers of baking soda) from my immediate view and decided to have an epiphany about what I’m supposed to be doing. As my poor, infant, starved baby-blog lay withering in the shadows, I remember that I need to write. I have to write. I can’t not write or I go crazy. It’s how I figure things out.
Instead of worrying about some super-cool blog design or how many views my post got on Facebook, how to increase my SEO or how many idiotic selfies I have to take in order to get people to pay attention, I will just write. That’s all I need to do. Just for me.
Delusions of Grandeur: Blogging
I know! I’ll start a blog. I love to write and maybe someday I can make money with it somehow. It will be fun and rewarding and exciting.
This sucks corn-hole. I work and work and work. I spend more time editing pictures and graphics and posting stupid crap on Stalkbook than what I really want to do…write. I network and spend time trying to figure out the next coolest blog post and talking notes into my phone while I drive but I spend very little time writing.
I write a post here and there but don’t post it because I don’t feel like it’s good enough or don’t have time to manipulate some ridiculous picture to go along with it. I find out that blogging is cut-throat and there are possibly more narcissistic a-holes in cyber-space than in the real world.
The best part of all of this poop is that I actually pay money every month to keep my blog alive. And it sits there.
I remember that I have to write and what better medium than my very own blog? While I detest the narcissism and idiocy of social media in general, I suppose I’ll give in to the exhibitionism that is writing a blog and setting free all my inner thoughts to whomever will read them.
So, I’m gonna write more and worry less. Don’t expect awesome photos and graphics. Heck, don’t even expect good writing. Understand that Satan’s minions may spew diarrhea from my wicked tongue periodically and I may fall off the map here and there. I’ve decided I’m okay with that. I just have to write.
And stop having miscarriages. Because they suck.