Well, that was a depressing post to go AWOL after.
Let’s have a cat picture for good measure, shall we?
I’ve been feeling conflicted about blogging lately. Which is why I haven’t. Blogged, I mean. Sometimes is feels so sketchy, putting my pictures, my words, my personal life on the internet for anyone to see. I have a lot of mixed feelings, and worries about the safety and/or advisability of it.
And yet, blogging is so, so good for me. It’s a way for me to express myself creatively; it helps fill that part of me that lies quiet and vacant–that part that I’ve never known quite how to feed. Knowing that other people are reading, commenting, connecting with me is hugely rewarding–obviously moreso than writing any of the hundreds of random snippets of crap I have saved on my computer, since I can’t seem to see any of them through.
I love writing. It helps me process things, make sense of myself and the world. As scary as it is to put something raw and vulnerable out there, there is nothing more fulfilling in the world for me than to have someone read it and say, “I know those feelings. I have been there. That is exactly what it is like.” It’s like I’m thrusting my hand out into utter darkness, waiting and terrified; and then someone grasps my fingers and says, “I’m here, too.”
[The boys and I had a big painting sesh yesterday afternoon. This is one of twenty-two enso circles I did. It’s addicting–in a really relaxing way.]
So, I think I’ll give ye olde blog another tentative try. I’m here. I hope you’re here, too.