Oh, Right, Update

22 11 2017

Since 2011

  • We had another Kid. He is 4, the other is 7. SEVEN. What the what.
  • Older Cat (Buffy) died. She walked out the door when I let Bailey out, giving me the chocolate starfish before meowing at me and walking away.
  • Bailey (dog) died.  I had to be in charge of that and it was awful. She got very sick, very fast.
  • Closed the shop. Physiological wounds remain.
  • Got a puppy. She’s 5.5 months old and a rescue dog. Much to the kid’s chagrin, she doesn’t recuse people, we rescued her. She was found, at 6 weeks old, on a property in SC that “didn’t know they had dogs”. Moved in with us at 13 weeks and has been a welcome addition since. The Mister said that her sister was being fixed at the same time and the family thought our dog was their dog due to color and “weird spotty tongue”. The other dog pooped in the parking lot, while our dog poops where we need to use the yard.
  • Gives more information about the dog than anything else. I have my reasons.

Back in to it?

22 11 2017

Yeah, so, a few people have asked me to get back in to writing… but, what do I write about?
“Okay, I have kids and this also happens to me.”
“I too enjoy wine/beer/liquor/water/La Croix.”
“I’m also trying to navigate through life.”
“My guilty pleasure is Catfish as well.”
What is it that makes this/my life interesting? What have I got that makes it something people want to read?
I’ve heard I’m witty, so maybe that’s it?
We all go through the same things in life (groceries, sleeping, friends, adventures). I think, no, I know that this is what keeps me from re-blogging? Blogging again?
Life has taken quite the winding road the past 10 years, not on the map at all but this is where I am now, is it still what it was?
I feel comfortable in my new skin (right? right?!), blogging is a bit of an Edgar Suit for me (here’s where a photo from Vincent D’Onofrio in Men in Black would go).
One of my things is trying to get back in to writing, without thumbs.
Had to do one of those awkward, “Letters I write but don’t get sent and gets burned” things, which was pretty cathartic, but the burning was a let-down.
Back on track, I enjoyed the writing of that letter. The freedom. The “just” writing. Letting it go. The stream of conscientiousness. And I realized I  missed it (evident much?), the writing.
Where do I go from here? Do I let this fizzle out, again? Bore you with the mundane day-to-day (maybe my day is more interesting than yours. Wegmans IS pretty exciting on a Tuesday)? Write to write?
Writing fills a little puzzle piece of my heart… something I did, and loved, but lost. Kind of like when I met my husband or had kids, I didn’t know that piece of my heart was missing until I found it.
No expectations. No benchmarks. No “you should”. I’m going to write to write because it feels good, even if it’s after a couple of glasses of wine.