101

I’m convinced I’m at a stage in my life where desperation meets obvious technological exploitation.

I’ve “blogged” for years, perhaps 8 or 10, but I’ve never really. It takes commitment, right? Just like keeping a journal. I’ve started a dozen journals. Finished none. In fact, this afternoon I came across a notebook that I’d written in (under the pretense of journaling) when I was pregnant with Ella. There are two “entries.” I think I’ll call that one a bust as well, hm? I can tear out that first page and have a gorgous clean notebook.

In the past month, I have felt a number of things, but I think chief among them would be loneliness. I have no one to share my thoughts with but a 1 year old. And if my thoughts have nothing to do with food, she’s pretty much uninterested. Who do I talk to? No one? If I’m going to talk to no one, I’d rather talk to no one here. Then at least I feel like I’m talking to someone.

I want to talk about my daughter. About my home. About my husband. About my family. About my spirit.

I want to talk about my few hobbies, like sewing and gardening. I want to talk about what’s on my mind, even if it’s something as banal as the last episode of OMGTVDRAMA. Because guess what? I think about it. And I want to talk about it.

So I’m going to. Here.

Resolved.


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