Today I woke up with a familiar weight at the base of my neck. It's been raining for two days straight, which I wouldn't mind if it were spring rain, but it is early-fall rain, the kind of cold rain that slips down the back of your neck and chills you instantly from head to toe. The kind of cold rain that seeps into your bones and reminds you that winter is coming, winter is coming, with its dark mornings and dark evenings and barely tolerable bus rides to the office in snow boots and knitted gloves.
So I woke up to this rain and thought "Hey, I should make a blog today." Actually, that's not what I thought at all. First I thought "what the heck am I going to wear to work today?" and then I thought "would they even notice if I didn't show up today?" to which I responded "of course they will, put on this dress and get out the door."
I put on the dress, I went out the door, I got myself to work with a flowery umbrella--and when I sat down and looked at my to-do list, it was then that I thought "Hey, I should make a blog today."
And here we are.
I've tried this before, a number of times. But I always come off sounding like some kind of Betty-Crocker worshiper with an identity crisis. It's true. Like a middle school girl who never has quite the right shoes or the hip backpack, I was trying to look impressive among the other bloggers I follow. The bloggers who plan cocktail parties and sew bunting and make seven course dinners from scratch using only a crock-pot and a back-yard solar oven made of foil. I love reading those blogs, and I love pretending that I could be that woman, turning potatoes in my solar oven wearing the apron I made of left over t-shirts from my college days. But the fact of the matter is: I am not that woman. Sometimes I am. But not all the time.
What I am is a lost woman. I'm not quite as lost as I was six months ago or so--but I'm still finding my way back to the person I once was. I'm trying to be some kind of an artist. I'm trying to be a bit of a writer. But above all, I am trying to learn to take myself seriously.
How will this blog work? I have no idea. I've already used the word "I" much more than my English professors would have cared for, and I can almost guarantee that it's going to continue. It feels self-indulgent, but sometimes self-indulgence can be the best medicine for a lost soul.