Wow. I completely forgot I ever created this blog but stumbled upon it this morning. What fun to read and remember. Honestly, we forget so much! Journaling has gone out of style—or maybe it has simply changed forms these days. Now people who want to "journal" do it on Facebook or Instagram. My preference is this quiet, hidden-in-the-corner little blog that no one reads or would ever find. There, but not there, really.
I've stopped writing altogether in these past years. I've stopped writing and, in reality, stopped thinking and feeling. I know it's true, and it's not healthy, but I don't know what to do about it.
My first blog, Small Dog, Tall Weeds, seems to have disappeared into cyberspace. I wrote more polished thoughts there, not everyday musings. And honestly, I actually liked much of what I wrote there, so it's too bad it's gone missing. I thought things on the internet never went away—isn't that the ubiquitous warning? But this seems to have honestly gone away. I reached out to Google for help retrieving the content, but not surprisingly, I never heard back. Maybe I should try again.
Life has changed dramatically since 2018. L is married and pregnant with her second child. Her first child, C, is a year old as of yesterday. So, these kids will only be 13.5 months apart. Precious! But intense. Especially because, while her dancing days are done, she is now the artistic director of her ballet company, she is very much in need of caregivers. As a grandmother, a very weighty and exhausting blessing, indeed!!! I watch C two days per week.
D is married with one child, Z, that I watch three full days per week. And I am working a remote job—technically full-time, but in practice, only part time. And there is always T. He needs a wife to attend to him occasionally! So, life is full.
For the sake of completeness, B is married, no children, living in Chicago. R is dating a sweet gal, no marriage or kids for him yet.
It's great, but in the fullness, I feel like I have lost myself. Have I? I reread what I wrote in this simple, boring little blog, and I enjoy my writer's voice. I enjoy my voice. That's the way I felt about Small Dog, Tall Weeds. I would feel almost ashamed of it when I was away from it, but then I'd come back and reread what I'd written and feel proud and happy.
I think I will reach out to Google again to try to get it back. And I think I will type here as well.
The thing about Small Dog is that it did feel a little more public. This is truly, truly private. No one knows about it.
Yesterday was MLK day, so I was off watching Z. The long weekend was nice. But, as of 11:30 am today, the treadmill begins again. L will drop off C for babysitting until 6:30 or so, when I will drop her back off at the studio. Home around 7:30 pm, wrap up work, and then to bed for 5:45 am wake up to get to D's house to babysit Z.
The thing is, I do have time. I get home and I do decompress, but my decompression is truly wasted time. What I crave is time alone. So when I get a few minutes to myself, I squander the time on Instagram or podcasts. They are my escape. I hate that I waste that time. I want to be productive—memory verses, writing, exercise. But I feel desperate to be left alone, not with another duty or obligation or commitment making a claim on me.
But stream-of-consciousness writing is a happy place for me, as it is for many women. Now that I've rediscovered this old rag, maybe I'll become a more frequent visitor.
In keeping with the theme of this blog, this is my happy moment for the day: that I stumbled upon this blog have been reunited with my old blogging self.
P.S. - Great news! I found Small Dog! Duh! I was looking for it in the wrong gmail account. Google is off the hook for deleting it. 😉 Double happy moment!
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