Hi again.

I start by realizing I do not even remember the domain name of the blog I started. Was it Blogger? Blogspot? WordPress! That’s it, WordPress. It must be two months ago now that I last wrote, because the baked macaroni and cheese recipe I made for Karen and Justin is the site that’s been left idle in my browser. It was good mac and cheese. But that was back in early April, I think. Why, if I think this is what I’m passionate about, do I prioritize other things in my life over writing?

Take today: I was given a chunk of free time – sans toddler, sans obligation – to do whatever it was my little heart desired. What did I do, you ask? Went to TJ Maxx to look for one of those weekly to-do notepads. To keep better track of what I want to accomplish and what I need to do in a given week. So I used my “break” to go buy a(nother) to-do list. So that I could fill it with things I have to do on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday…? I’m a mystery, even to myself.

I recently read somewhere (here, actually) that, in the absence of actually writing – essays, blog posts, poetry – we mothers (maybe it was all creative women, in fact) make lists. We write things down in note form. Pick up x, y and z grocery items. Research a, b and c preschool options. Can’t forget to send a card for the birthday. Accomplish tasks 1-3 of project by deadline.

I guess that’s what I’ve been up to. Just making lists and surviving. Seldom, if ever, asking for support. Preferring instead to wear my weariness like a badge of honor. Sad face.

I think the reason I’m tentative about this whole writing thing is that I fear I’ll turn any project I start into a therapy session for myself. A weekly edition of “here’s what’s bumming me out about motherhood and life in general this week.” Like, how depressing, right? (And isn’t that just called a “journal”?)

Elizabeth Gilbert told me in Big Magic that (^) THAT’S OK. She said we need not create things for any purpose or for any person. And I believed her. But it feels mostly selfish and wasteful to talk about myself and my issues. Won’t I be the only one who’s interested in reading if this is the case? And, for whatever reason, I don’t want to keep “my issues” under lock and key in a private journal. What if someone finds it and discovers the nasty things I really think about them? That’s no good.

So, if you (and I) bear with me as I try to work some things out here, there might just be some good (or at least interesting in an awkward way) stuff that comes out of this. I’m in my head a LOT, and my goal is to start mining some real gems from up there every now and then.

And Lord, please help keep me accountable so I don’t feel the need to always be reintroducing myself. I feel like I’m always like, “Hi, I’m Al. These are my issues. Buckle up.” This is getting ridiculous.

Love you.