I have been trying to start blogging again for YEARS.
My mom has encouraged me at her own peril.
I have a tendency to avoid
My mom/life guru, encouraged me by saying that if I was "successful" with this before, I could be again. My previous blog from a previous life had a few consistent features. One was the Weekend Wrap Up, which was inconsistently posted at some point on Monday after I had somewhat recovered from the weekend's 3rd hangover. Another was the Friday Randomness and Weekend Agenda which lived up to it's title most of the time. While complaining to my mother that I didn't know how to find a rhythm for regular posts, she suggested bringing back the Weekend Wrap Up.
Because I am Eeyore in a Heather suit, I rebuffed her idea and went back to complaining. (Poor Momma.)
Why would I do such a rotten thing to such a wonderful woman? Because I was in the throes of an epic quarter life crisis those days and life is much less tumultuous these days as I prepare to ramp up to my midlife crisis, which I'm hoping to avoid since the quarter life one was so goddamned dangerous and painful (thanks for the daily reminders, Timehop app!).
Finally, after weeks of bumping her suggestion around in my head, something hit me this weekend. My life has changed, but ridiculous thoughts like these still cross my mind:
From my last Friday Randomness post (2.26.10):
...my bra was laying next to me on my bed and I thought it was the dog (MILTON!). Boobs big enough to look like a 20 lb. dog are a little scary.
From my last Weekend Agenda (same post):
#9 (of 10 items where sleeping was mentioned thrice). Cultivate permanent ass print in the couch.
I think my hesitation lies in the fact that blogging is different than it was a decade ago and my style doesn't fit the smartypants nature of today's popular blogs.
But, here's the thing...I don't blog because I fit in or in order to fit in. I've tried. It's very painful when I try and it never works. It might from time to time, but it's like that nightmare where you showed up to take the SAT drunk and you forgot to wear pants and you can't wake up.
That said, if you see me and my tattoos are covered, I'm wearing makeup, smiling like an idiot, and wearing sensible shoes, chances are, I feel like a stressed out drunk person without her pants.
ANXIETY IS REAL, PEOPLE!
With that in mind, I'm going to give this a whirl by going back to what I know I can produce. The other blog evolved into something with depth (occasionally) and if I did it once, I can do it again. I mean, how hard is it to talk about sleeping and boobs?
Look for some kind of weirdness in this space soon...
....or in about eleventeen years.
Thankfully, no one is reading this dross, so I don't have much to worry about. If there is a someone reading this something, drop me note!
See ya on Friday for some randomness maybe?