It’s me again. Long time, no write.
It’s been…awhile. I had forgotten what you even looked like to be honest.
Well, as you can see, I still look the same.
Two of my oldest and dearest friends have called me out on my writing…or lack thereof. (I like to call it Chronic Writer’s Block, and I’m still working on experimental treatments.) It’s funny how we all have those friends. The ones that have known you so long that even if years pass without saying a word, you can pick up right where you left off without missing a beat. These friends also have the tendency to accurately call you out on your BS.
So, here I am trying to fit a blog post into my crazy life at two o’clock in the morning. Never mind that I have to be up in five hours, still have to get ready for bed, and I have a dentist appointment tomorrow afternoon. Those are just the minor details that I like to call life. I started another blog, and abandoned it. (Big surprise, right?) I have so many things I want to do that often times so much gets overlooked, and the truth is that, sadly, my writing has been pushed to the back burner. Once upon a time, when I felt that I had no voice, I realized that on paper I could let myself finally be heard. I once even won a trip to Washington, D.C., all expenses paid, for a week just because of an essay I wrote at lunch and printed out as the bell was ringing. It used to come so easily. Now, I sit for hours staring at the cursor while it mocks me with its pulsating blink. Write it down on paper, you might say…oh, the paper wad mountain in the recycling bin is just as frustrating. Other times, I can manage to close myself off, get it all down, then I go back to the habit I have had since livejournal and myspace blogs…I highlight and delete, convinced that my voice doesn’t deserve to be heard.
I mean, look at all the blogs out there. Everyone and their mother has a blog. Some people have blogs with their mothers. I am hardly the first person to have an Autistic child, and I am certainly not the first wife and stay-at-home mom. I am not a trailblazer, because I moved from the Ozark Mountains to London. There is no novelty for most people in travel in a world of been there, done that, and I’m still a novice at it anyway. Sure, I bake gluten-free goodies that rock pretty hard. I bake a lot of things that are awesome, but what did I make that I didn’t already get from another blog or one of my many cookbooks? I can craft my little heart out, but when I’m covered in paint, mod podge, or just burned my finger with hot glue, I’m not exactly dying to take pictures every step of the way, and write a how-to manual. To those crafty blogs that I often read, y’all deserve gold stars.
With all the voices out there struggling to be heard, I’m pretty sure mind would get lost in the wind, or at least somewhere along the information highway. I always think to myself, ¨Is this original? Has it been done before? Done to death? Do I sound like an idiot?¨
I think now, it’s probably the sleep deprivation talking, and I promise not to delete this in the morning, but I think that it doesn’t matter if I’m not the first. I don’t have to be a trailblazer, and no matter how quiet my voice is, that maybe there are a few people willing to hear it. My life isn’t a Hollywood movie. It’s not even a made-for-TV or straight-to-DVD movie. It’s just life. It’s messy and complicated. It’s loud and most of the time, utterly exhausting, but it’s mine. I wouldn’t change that for the world. Would I change things about myself? Sure. Loads, probably. Not my life, though. I love where I am and those that I get to spend my days with.
Possibly… it might even be semi interesting enough to write about. I’m sure I can find a few things in the last few years to ramble on about, because currently the best I got is that it’s the kids’ last day of school tomorrow, and I’m having a crown. The one that involves a root canal, not the fun party or royal kind. I feel like I’d rather be chased by a serial killer clown than write about that, and I don’t want to imagine how painful it would be to read. Now, I should probably get to bed.
Tomorrow’s a brand new day.
Procrastination and Love,