Well, admittedly I must be the worst blogger in the world and it’s perfectly fine if the powers that be who rule such things blog related feel the need to remove me from this world for a short time as punishment for my errant ways. I have already sort of removed myself as it were anyway.
Of course no blogging gods are going to swoop in and take this blog down but guilt over my non-blogging (the last one on this blog was July 27th) is making me feel as if some sort of chastisement is in order.
I so enjoy reading all the blogs I follow and do that religiously each morning. It’s the writing part that has escaped me for what reason I don’t know. It even seems to take a great deal of energy to comment back on some of those blogs I follow. I was never a major commentator, but I find myself reading some really funny or profound, or sad words that set off all sorts of thoughts in my head but those thoughts don’t transfer to my fingers moving over the keyboard with anything brilliant in reply.
I honestly don’t think anything brilliant has the ability to come out of my brain right now and that’s sort of weird and disturbing and sad all at the same time. Whoa—back that up. I don’t mean to presume that what flows from my brain is always a masterpiece of scholarly or prize-winning writing. Far from it. That is the very reason that the subtitle to my blog is something about …random musings…
This is the place that I can add commas where they don’t belong, or forget commas where they are supposed to be, show how grammatically incorrect I can be and not care (maybe care a little), and most of all: write just the way I speak. That says quite a bit about the first two in that list actually. What’s important, and why this blog will never be anything more than an extension of the teenage diary with the lock that didn’t work, is simply the fact that I can do whatever I want here. I’m not trying to impress anyone. If that happens somewhere along the line, well then that’s great and I will take a measure of credit, but this blog has always been and always will be a place to just write about stuff.
That brings me back to the point of this post. I don’t feel as if I have any “stuff” to write about lately. Life is just sort of inching along, uneventful, uncompromising, and inconsequential. I don’t want to keep writing about my amazing children, or my amazing granddaughter (who really is you know), or the menagerie of critters that have taken to eating breakfast on my deck. I could do all that of course, but I’m searching for something more meaningful I suppose.
I’ve looked back over older posts and wonder where the witty and even profound words that occasionally came from this blog have gone. It has felt like a chore lately to even think about putting words down here and hitting that Publish button. I suppose this proves that I could never be a writer. Deadlines would loom and I would be sitting idle with nothing to say. I have to want to write to actually write and apparently I haven’t had any desire or need to write lately.
I have to wonder if this little phase coincides with the fact that my life as a real, employed member of society is done, and my career as a student is rapidly coming to an end (3 classes to go), and my children are living life as adults (and probably don’t want me writing of their world anyway) and now I have to figure out what to move onto next.
I was actually lying in my bed last night and this thought came to me: “I must get a new hobby.” That revelation started all sorts of what-if thoughts and I had these visions of me crafting odd bits and pieces of ephemera sitting behind some sort of craft table at a local market with very nice, but disinterested folk walking past muttering, “that’s the 18th older lady we’ve passed trying to sell crap that nobody wants…”
Maybe I need to meet up with the 17 older ladies before me and we can all figure out what to do with our time and energy together…maybe form a blogging community where we only write on occasion about our rather dull lives.