I read a fantastic book when I was pregnant with my son by Anne Lamott - Operating Instructions: A Journal Of My Son’s First Year. And I have to say; she is probably my inspiration for writing as much as I do. If you’ve ever had a child, or are thinking about having a child you need to read this book! Even if you don’t want to have children, this book is so witty and comical; it will leave you in tears.
I love to write. It’s therapeutic. Am I any good at it? That remains to be seen. I’m not an English major (that sentence right there proves that) and I’m not the most colorful crayon in the knife drawer, however I’d like to think that someone, somewhere is reading this and not scratching their head thinking “What on God’s creation is this chic smoking?”
I recently entered my blog with a website that will pay me to write about topics and/or products – however I have to be “approved” by some higher authority in order to participate. I think that’s bogus. I could totally write about “Tide” or “Tampax”. I’m not partial. Granted, if you asked me to write about Global Warming or Politics and Religion, you’d be better off reading “One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest” than trying to figure out my take on any of the above.
I know some of my posts don’t make any sense, nor do they have any real value on life itself, but as I mentioned before, it’s therapeutic for me to jot complete nonsense down. It prevents me from having to wear the cute little white jacket with buckles and be sent to my padded room.
If you’ve read any of my recent posts, I bounce around from subject to subject, ranging anywhere from writers block to “Deep thoughts by Spanky.” I loved English when I was in school, and it wasn’t until I started writing in my college English classes that I realized, I really, really like it. Like, a lot! I kept journals when I was younger as well, you know, the ones where you are totally boy crazy over some schmuck who doesn’t even know you exist, yet you continue to write about him secretly in the hopes that you’ll have some fascinating and exhilarating news to report by the time you’ve reached the end of your journal. Yeah, mine was plastic with a lock.
After my son was born I decided I wanted to journal everything to make sure I didn’t forget his early years. Yeah, that lasted all of about 6 months since I could barely remember what day it was, let alone sit down for “quiet time” to journal. I had no quiet time. What is that?
But then I discovered blogging! How lucky. I’m a bit obsessed with it and while I’m not Erma Bombeck, I do like to think that some people out there can relate to my craziness I call “life”.
When my son was just over a year old I went through my own little “mid-life crisis”. Either that or it was a really long PMS cycle because quite frankly I was an absolute mess and completely irrational. Upon the suggestion of my Mom, I started writing down all my frustrations and then tearing up the paper and burning it – to let it go to the Universe and be “free of my frustrations”. I know, I know it sounds like total garbage, but it works! Venting is so good for you and you would not believe the number of times writing it down saved me from saying nasty, ugly things. Once I wrote it down, burned it and cried over it, I was able to actually talk about it and not be a complete, emotional basket case. It was my own personal way of telling people to pound sand, but not hurt their feelings.
I used to always think my calling in life was going to be to bop Wal-Mart dwellers on the head and pass out “I’m with stupid” signs to unsuspecting yahoos. I never thought writing about it and publishing it to the Internet world would be my cup of tea.
I guess I was wrong.