I’m not really interested in doing this anymore. The blog, I mean. The fact that it’s taken me weeks to bother writing this post is probably the best evidence of that.
I started this because I am by nature a writer. I love to sort out my thoughts on paper, or computer as the case may be. My favorite method is to vomit up every thought I have on a topic in one giant outpouring of keystrokes, and then go back and rearrange, delete, modify, etc., until I have something that resembles the gist of what was in my mind when I started. I simply love the process.
The problem is that the process can take time, and time is not something I have right now. I actually haven’t had it since I gave birth to Fred (Ginger was easy, so easy in fact that I decided to get pregnant again only 6 months after her birth. Boy, have I learned my lesson). However, because my interest was here, I made the time, at the expense of other activities.
Now, however, I don’t feel compelled to make the time. Moreover, it’s not just a time issue. The fact of the matter is that this blog is not the creative outlet I was hoping for because I censor myself a lot. I only wish I could write about what’s really on my mind, but the lawyer in me won’t let me. I may want a paying job again someday. I may get sued for some unknown reason. I did employment law for a decade, for crying out loud. I know how blogs like this can come back to haunt you.
As a result, I’ve stopped myself from writing about the truly funny or interesting things that happen to my kids, GrumpyDaddy, or me. I have a wickedly raunchy and snarky sense of humor, but you’d never know it from this blog. I curse like a sailor in real life, but I’ve purposefully watered down my usually salty language here. I have things to say about people I love that probably aren’t very nice, but I’ve resisted sharing because I have no clue whether someone I care about is going to find out that this blog exists. The odds are small, but still.
Frankly, self-censorship sucks. I occasionally go back and read some of my posts and I cringe when I see where I’ve left out fun details or wry and unkind observations. It really does a disservice to the stories I’ve shared. If you ever sat down to chat with me over a beer, you’d probably never guess that I and the writer of this blog are one and the same.
My lack of interest in continuing the blog may also be related to a somewhat Luditian kick I seem to be on right now. I’m feeling a bit disenchanted with all things internet-y. I started using Twitter and think it’s completely stupid. It’s just another source for information in my already cluttered and hectic day. I will probably deactivate my account shortly.
I finally caved and joined Facebook because most of the moms with whom I hang out are on there and rave about the hilarity of the daily status updates. It was entertaining and cool for about a day, but I’m still searching for the hilarity.
I have several blogs on topics of interest to me in my Google Reader, but lately I’ve been opening my Reader, taking one look at the huge number of entries to read, clicking on “Mark as read” and closing the page.
I just need to reprioritize my time, or least move things around a bit. I won’t delete this blog – yet – and I may decide to pick it up again. Hell, I may find myself writing again in a week. But for now, I am stepping away.
One final thought: I do think I finally figured out why I am so “grumpy.” It’s the dawdling. Every activity with a toddler and especially a pre-schooler is dragged out to the outer limits of what a person can handle before losing their grip on sanity. Getting Ginger dressed in the morning is a Herculean effort. She pull a shirt over her head but before she can get her arms in the sleeves, she’ll spot a toy she wants to play with and go play with it. Then we’ll get one arm in her shirt and she’ll decide she wants to sing a song. The next arm goes in and she wants to run around with no pants on because she thinks it’s funny. Then underwear goes on and we have to have a discussion about what’s for breakfast. She’ll start to put her pants on and then decide that she needs to get a hair clip. She waddle over to her hair clips, pants around ankles, spend 5 minutes trying to figure out which one she likes, and return. If I dare to step away from this process to do something other than help her “get dressed,” I get a pouty, whiny child.
Nothing happens quickly in a pre-schooler’s world except mood changes.