Saturday, July 2, 2011

I don't even have a witty title

I used to write because it helped me remember things. Bits and pieces of the kids' lives and funny things or irritating things that happened in a day. I used to write to get feelings out that I didn't want to contaminate my relationships by me keeping them bottled up inside. I used to write because I couldn't not write. Writing was as fundamental to me as breathing.

Somewhere along the way, I lost the urge to write online and started scribbling in my notebook. I don't know if it's because the kids are getting older and they don't like for all their amusing antedotes to be shared or because someone once told me that I pretended to have a perfect marriage (that someone was not privvy to the writing I do online or she would have never said such a thing.)

At some point, it became a chore and not something fun to do. I dreaded even getting online and I stopped reading what other people wrote because it reminded me, rather sharply, of my own lack of words in this space.

I've had this blog for a really long time. I've been writing both here and elsewhere for a really long time. I've taken breaks, some very short (think a few days) to some very long (almost a year.) I never intend to be gone that long but it happens. The real world beckons at times and I feel the need to answer it rather than hide away in front of a computer screen and tap on the keys.

But lately, even with the flowers and the garden and the job and the kids and... oh just everything, I have missed writing in a way that I haven't missed it in a really long time. I have been very wordy on twitter... not so much interaction with others (which I keep reading is the only correct way to use twitter and to that I say "whatever... the correct way is the way you use it unless you are spamming people and really... just don't.") I use it as it was originally intended... a microblogging platform. 140 characters that says "hey, i'm here and a squirrel is trying to kill me." I use it just to put a limited number of words out and I keep up with the people I follow and sometimes, it helps me to know that I'm not alone. 3am when you have insomnia can be a complete bitch.

I don't even really know why I'm writing this. Maybe just because I wanted to write. Perhaps, I should stop focusing so much on the reasons why and just do.

Like I just did.

GIST - The Sunday Edition # 175

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