Monday, April 9, 2012

Silence is Golden?

Lately, it's this: "Look at our bathroom renovation!" or "I'm running/not running/hate running/want to be a runner/want to kick running in the crotch!" or "Wah wah What is the Meaning of Life?".

I'm sick of it myself, which is why I am silent. And, I'm no more sure of what the hell I am doing with my life than I was a month or 8 months or 5 years ago. All I DO know is that pictures like these remind me that I should be spending more time trying to write a book* than blogging for shits and giggles:

Except that I sort of need shits and giggles, you know? I need to spend time just spacing out and writing mindless entries into this live journal of my days. I like uploading pictures and adjusting the lighting and posting them. I like typing out the excruciatingly boring steps involved in tiling a bathroom wall or picking out paint colors. I love to comb through 432 pictures of Easter to find two where the kids all look (falsely) cherubic. It relaxes me to spend time writing something that doesn't have to be good or deep or though provoking or engaging.

So I write here. When I should be writing a book or cleaning my floors or sleeping or something else entirely. And I hope that one day I'll get my shit together and pen the next great American novel, but since a paid sabbatical to drink strong coffee and write all day isn't on the horizon in the near future, I remind myself that it'll happen when it's time.

And, until then, there's this small victory:  I was published (in all my edited and less-wordy glory, thanks to some amazing people who took my 3 page manifesto and pared it down to its core) on Offbeat Mama. And I'm really really stupid proud. Check it out.

*Because, didn't you hear, writing a book would mean it would be published and I would make lots of money. Or at least enough money to be able to stay home all day and write more. And see those faces above for more hours out of my day. Those faces feed my heart and my soul. They make my belly flip and my throat constrict and my arms ache for couch cuddle puddles. They make me dream of morning snacktimes and afternoon naptimes and fort building and sprinklers and after-dinner trips for ice cream cones. They make me want to change the world, but to do it a little closer to home.

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