First off, thanks to all for your advice to "take the week off" blogging. Clearly, I took it. And perhaps even more clearly (to me, at the very least) I needed to. This last week was one of the most clarifying weeks of my life and for the first time in a long time spent the week without thinking about what I have to "post about" tomorrow. It's addicting, this blog. Twitter. Checking Facebook. Sharing information. I realized just how addicting it was when I had to physically pull myself away daily... When every time something funny or clever or interesting entered my head I automatically went to tweet it- and then... smacked myself in the face. Because, why? Do any of you really care what I overheard at Trader Joe's? I'm going to predict, no. Especially with thousands of others simultaneously tweeting about what they heard at Trader Joe's. I mean, fuck, you guys! We all go to Trader Joe's, do we not? You know what I mean. So what's with all the noise? Sometimes I feel like I can't fucking shut up and I hate myself for it.
I used to have these really lovely quiet moments inside myself and now it's like, I feel this need to open up at all times in order to be... I don't know... validated? Normal? Interesting?
I don't want to be that girl. I roll my eyes at those girls. And yet... I AM that girl. Except the thing is? I'm not a girl. I'm an adult. A woman. I'm a woman who tweets about dogs wearing sunglasses? I don't know, man. I don't get it. I don't get me. Kids these days. Adults these days.
In summary, before I go waaaaaay off the deep end and you guys think I'm even crazier than last week's post let on, I'll say this: When your life becomes your living, it's impossible to know where to draw the lines. "Don't shit where you eat" doesn't apply to those of us who have spent the last eight years (five here at GGC. Three at my former blog, now defunct) blogging publicly about our personal lives. Fuck! Including my ...Teenage Soul days, I've been doing this for fifteen years. That's more than half my life. I don't even remember what it feels like to journal privately. I have no skill set when it comes to privacy. And sometimes being as exposed as I have been all these years is overwhelming and I have no idea what the fuck I'm thinking and I feel this overpowering need to hide... out... for a week slash forever.
...Gargling with reality after waking up one morning and being like, "oh, this food I'm eating? There's shit in it. Someone pooped in my breakfast. What? What's that you say. Oh, yeah. It was ME who pooped in my breakfast. Gross, self. Gross."
It felt really good to step away. To unplug from the sensory overload machine and massage the fist-sized conundrums in my neck. Not that those knots don't still exist. They're just...
Rusty with the metaphors apparently. Gosh, that was bad.
Anyway, I'm back. I'm here. I'm fully caught up on Mad Men. (Poor Sally. Sad face.) I did some writing, some reading, spent quality time with my kids sans cameras and phones and computers. Spent quality time with myself, reevaluating my goals as a writer and parent, wife and friend, sister, daughter, cousin, client, dog owner, neighbor, butcher, baker and candlestick maker...Did me some light shopping at "Trader Joes"... Felt for the first time in several months not overwhelmed.
I'll tell you what, kid. There's no therapy like being able to stand in the "ten items or less line" after spending the last however-many-months apologizing to the guy behind you re: your overflowing cart and "you might want to get in a different line, this might take a while."
It feels really good to be unapologetic - to walk out of the market with one bag in hand rather than pushing a broken cart full of overflowing satchels.
That's vacation, am I right?
... But it also feels good to be back.
For better or for worse, this blog is so much more than what I do, it's who I am.
Thank you for sticking around.