I think about writing a lot. I think about blog posts and of manipulating words. I try to journal daily.
But they aren’t the same as the words and subjects I tousled with two years ago. They aren’t examining the unimaginable discomfort of booty shorts, for example. They are about being a mom and about adoption and about infertility which, although each of those subjects have comedy laced through them if you look closely enough, they aren’t exactly hysterical.
Probably 5 years ago there was a blogger I really loved who was very, very funny. Then, she had a baby and her blog posts got sparse and the few that popped up were about her son. She stopped altogether for years. Last year she resurfaced with a new blog name and I was all, “Hooray!” Except then I realized that it was about organizing your life. So I took back up following it and it was about… organizing your life. It was not funny nor was it meant to be and I felt betrayed. What HAPPENED between funny and mommy?
AND NOW I FEAR I’M THERE, TOO.
Blogging became this sort of catharsis for me and the relief I was looking for from heavy stuff. I missed writing about the time I froze the class fish, (although I DON’T miss that happening…). I miss it. Except I get sort of lost in this Mommyville and find it hard to translate the humor I still find in daily life into my writing. Things are funny all the time, all day, but I sit down to write and my brain tries to tell me to unleash my fears and frustrations instead of writing for pleasure. This was largely the reason I took a blogging break; blogging is a beautiful tool, but it took the place of private journaling and therapy for me, both of which I have recently reignited with to sighs of relief.
A story: Once, when I was about 16, I worked in the kitchen of a summer camp. I would come into the 6am shift singing and laughing and one of the other guys told me that I was too perky and it made him irritated. I went in the laundry room and bawled to a friend and, lets be honest here, not a whole lot has changed in the emotional arena for me… But I DO want some more of that obnoxiously perky girl. Adulthood is yankin’ me down and needs a swift punch to the face. I’m diggin’ deep, friends. Would you like to see a picture of me in 6th grade with Mr. T in the meantime?
(One more unfunny post… I took all of the face pics of my handsome kid off of here. If you’re friends with me, you can see them on FB and if you’re not you get to use your imagination. Blogger statistics show what search key words some of you weirdos have typed in to end up at my blog and CRAP! We need some more therapists to go around.)