I have a thousand subjects/experiences/opinions/thoughts I’m eager to put down here, which is why I created this blog anyway, but there’s so much I want to start with that the words get piled on top of each other again and again, burying my once simple, planned, brief subject of the moment. So I sit here most nights trying to force my head clear and shake down the mess of wordy words into a manageable, neat blog post. But now here I sit just blogging about the problem of…. blogging.
Maybe I should start with disclaimers.
I am not looking for any kind of sympathy. I’m putting all this down and together here for pretty much the same reason as anyone else does; I want to believe I am being ‘heard’. I want to feel a part of something and leave my little mark of my collection of wordy words.
I also feel the need to leave it said and done for something inside myself. Some things need to be said, told, set free and this is for now, the only way I can ’safely’ do that (without hurting anyone’s feelings, opening worm cans, hanging out dirty laundry, etc).
I’m not looking for praise, fame, advice, criticism, debate or much conversation at all. I’m rather anti-social in these later days. It’s strange, I used to be so incredibly social and gregarious. I always wanted to write down my ‘memories’ or Life Story for my daughters, so maybe this is what this is, besides also being some type of therapy journal.
I turn 41 today. It’s a bizarre concept for me. Strange. I see wrinkles and grey hair, my overweight body and feel my creaking bones & other changes of age (as in my aging experience is unique to me as in I got fat, lol) but I can’t see myself as ‘41′. I don’t know what I actually see myself as… that’s also probably what I’m working on figuring out.
