So it’s National Novel Writing Month, but I’ve already got a book I’m working on so I thought I’d do something different. I thought I’d do one month of blogging. One month of blog blasts, long, short, whatever.
I’ve been in blog silence for a while mostly because I screwed up and posted an earlier blog where I did not conceal people’s identity as much as I should have. It ended up being embarrassing and I still haven’t recovered. It led me to all sorts of questions like “Is it ethical to blog?” and “Is it okay to blog about my life when it coincides with other people’s lives?” and “Are there just some things you shouldn’t write about?”
My answers were Yes, Maybe and Probably. Hence the no blogging.
But I miss blogging. I miss blogging the way you miss a friend who you used to be close to but because your lives have veered off in different directions, you just don’t talk/email/see each other anymore. It’s no one’s fault really, that you can’t connect anymore, but it still aches.
There have been so many little moments in these last six months or so where something funny would happen and I’d think “Oh! I can’t wait to blog!” But then I remembered that I couldn’t blog, because I’d screwed up and my blog and I were broken up. I couldn’t text my blog in the wee hours anymore. I couldn’t leave awkward messages. No more backrubs at four in the morning…
Wait. I might be confusing my blog with an actual relationship.
Luckily, I still have Kealoha to talk to and backrub with, so it’s not been a complete loss. But it has been an absence. A soft kind of loss.
What has happened in these last six months? So much and nothing at all. Struggles with my kids, my career, my parents. I said good-bye to my non-relationship with my dad. I’m redefining things with my mom. I wrote a novel. I had good things happen with my career. I started teaching a class at college. I gave up the class at college when things happened with my kids and my mom and I realized that though I wanted to do it all, I am not, in fact Wonder Woman, and I could not do even half of it. Kealoha and I went to Chicago. We had fun but it wasn’t enough vacation time. My kids are both struggling with anxiety and it’s affecting school so I’ve been at enough counselors’ offices that I could probably start working towards a new degree. I’ve cooked a lot. I started working out. I cried a few times in my closet. I cried while talking to my aunt on the phone, walking through my wilting garden and the stupid zucchini plants that even though I tried again to grow them, got infected with wormy beetles, and I cried because I really wanted to pick zucchini from my garden. Just once. I bought zucchini from the grocery store and farmer’s market, but it wasn’t the same. I actually avoided the farmer’s market because there were too many people, so I asked my husband to go, which he did, because he is kind. I laughed with him, but maybe not enough. There has not been nearly enough laughter in these six months. Did I say I wrote a novel? Because I did that too. One measly paragraph at a time. But I fought for each word and had some wonderful encouragement from a penpal who lives in Prague, and there’s a sort of magic to that. I fought over parenting issues with my ex. I tried not to explode because of stress. I exploded a little because of stress. I burped stress. I cooked some more. I drank wine. I gave up wine when I started to want to drink too much. Now I just drink a little bit of wine. I narrated great stories filled with romance, love, hate, pain, passion, anger…every book seeking to answer some loss or need and I thought “Huh. I get that. I do.” We’re all just trying to figure it out, and get through life page by page.
Every day. A new page.
This is why I have missed my blog.