You’d think that by now I would have something to say, something, anything to write about, but I’m still pretty blank.
I think somewhere along the line I drew up some nasty constraints on where this whole thing would go. There would be plenty of this, a little of that and absolutely NONE of that or this.
Kind of like Stephen King Putting his name on a Romance novel, if you get my drift. Boxed into a certain flow, a certain genera, specific expectations, afraid to disappoint. Stifled.
Life changes, different seasons of growing and learning flow through, and what once needed to be said no longer holds its luster. But yet you’ve built your podium with crimson roses and ruby stained wood… and now you detest the color red. But everyone knows you and your ruby-red stage, they’ve come to see those crimson roses… and you, you want to paint it all yellow.
Have I lost you yet?
The shoes of fiction novels drowned in demons and blood sucking uglies just seem five sizes too small. Blogs of wit and sarcasm just feel all scratchy and stiff. The world all seems to be made of hand-me-down clothes that you never would have picked for yourself… and for some reason I’m really on some odd analogy kick today.
So what does fit? Today it would be homemaking, and homesteading as I’m down right ill with spring fever. (and also to be fair I might still be delusional from that damn rampid stomach flu and fever the boy brought home from school) (but I have noticed that I do tend to get a heck of a lot of reading done every time I’m dying in the bathroom, here’s to already being on book 5 and 6 of this year’s reading goal)
And yes I am an expert at going no where fast.
For now I’ll keep my fingers away from deleting this whole blog, and I’ll stop my mind from dreaming up new titles and layouts. Maybe I’ll venture out of my tight, long-sleeved, funny little jacket, and stop hiding away in secret little hidden blogs, or from the whole interwebs in general…