Under Construction

So, here I am on the floor of my new closet, with three cans of paint and a drill.  This construction stuff is mad therapeutic.  That’s right… mad therapeutic.

For one, it is as rewarding and self-fulfilling as a great workout.  I mean, I look at these stupid particle board shelves I’ve built, and I see carpentry skills that while not necessarily square or marketable, are never the less making this woman think she can do anything.  Thoughts that started at “how in the hell am I gonna make these vertical walls, well, vertical?” have now turned to, “Drawers?  Yeah, two.  Why not four? That hold shoes and are only an inch deep? Yes.  I begin tomorrow.”  And then somehow, I am sure for the first time in my life, that yes, I can build drawers.

I’ve been wanting to put up a blog that somehow acknowledged that I am a parent or reflected on what I am thinking as a parent and just haven’t been able to land on anything to spur some writing.  Then today, while painting, the somewhat humorous thought crossed my mind, “Is there ever a point in your day when you stop and think, ‘Holy Crap, I haven’t played with my children yet?’” And I thought that would be a funny launching point about parenting and finding a way to laugh at ourselves for living life, then round it out by bringing the narrative around to an emotional depiction of the importance of leaving our daily tasks and becoming a part of our children’s world.  It would have been revelling.

But then I stopped myself and was like, “No.  I can’t talk about not playing with children.  What will people think?”  Then I started thinking about all the readers different responses to that and I got scared.  Of what you would think.  Even though it was  joke.  When did I start censoring myself, and even more importantly, do I want to censor myself?

This blog has always been mine and a place for me to document whatever crazy emotional impractical thought I’ve had. No matter who I knew was reading it.  At that time, my blog was for me, a journal.  Now, in some ways this breaks my heart, it has become a place to “show”case my life.  To let you in, but only let you see a really clean glimpse of our life. 

I want to document my crazy, laughable thoughts, no matter how incorrect or fleeting or immature.  In fact, I think that some of my best writing happens at times when my thoughts are unrestrained by thoughts of you.  And now, it’s like this forum isn’t the place for that because you are here.  I think that my writing flounders or becomes unsincere… no, becomes unbearably pretentious and sanctamonious in some ways when I write with you in mind.

At the very same time.  This forum wouldn’t work if you weren’t here.  If I didn’t feel that a group of my peers was here reading it. 

I think, Oh my god, I think peoples opinions of me matter more than they should.  Ugh, I was so never going to become that person. 

So what is important to me when it comes to my blog?  That my audience sits back in approval?  No.  That I leave the keyboard feeling lighter?  That I have something to pull up and transport myself back to a moment that is still vivid to me because I documented it? Yes.  This blog, this forum is for my memories, as they are, fresh and still vivid. 

Because lord knows I don’t have much short-term memory to rely on….

and…. she’s back!

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