Only a few weeks into the year and I am majorly struggling with this blogging commitment. I have started and scratched three different drafts of my next post?
Quick aside- there is a mom a few seats away from me at this coffee shop with two fairly boisterous little boys, and the woman across from me has been shooting them the side eye every time they squeal while also emitting a quite audible “UGH.” Mama over there ain’t noticing, but UGH lady is changing the side eye game, you guys. I am in love with this seating arrangement.
Okay back to the point. I thought I would feel so freed by putting the proverbial pen to paper each week, putting all of the thoughts swirling around in my head somewhere else where I don’t have to keep them in line anymore. But it’s hard. Everything I try to write feels so contrived, so “wow, stop trying so hard,” so forced. Who wants to read these things? Who really cares? How self-absorbed am I to think I have so much wisdom and wit to share with the world that I’ve been depriving it for so long?
This is why I always scoffed at people who started blogs. I mean it goes to show you that whatever you scoff at, you become. I swore I would never be the girl to get married straight out of college, to never live on her own, but hi hello, it’s me. I never thought I’d be the one to suddenly think, “how and when did I gain this weight? What’s wrong with me?” I never thought I’d be the one to struggle with suicidal temptations. I would never be one of those people. But again, hi hello, it’s me.
Maybe by the end of this year I’ll have learned how to not use blogging as an excuse to ramble barely-connected thoughts. But I’m already a week behind so anything goes.