Hey all of whoever reads this. It’s been awhile. I’ve been thinking about posting, but quite honestly I feel like the stuff I’m going through in life requires a much more secure form of processing. I miss blogging – but it’s the community of bloggers I miss more than anything. I have thankfully usurped most of that community into my daily social media feeds, but do we really share the way we used to? There are so many opportunities for nefarious behavior on the internet, and so little opportunity for sincere connections. I miss those days when one could form an honest and intimate friendship with someone based strictly on the words they wrote. When blogs weren’t about buying and selling products, and the popular blogs weren’t immediately monetized. Yes, that world once existed. Perhaps there’s a subculture in which that aesthetic still does exist, but I haven’t experienced it in blogging for a long time.
Things have been rough here this past month, and it’s difficult to see past the difficulty right now, though I know I will eventually. No one ever told me that these little beings I created would eventually grow up and their feelings about life would complicate my own feelings about life so dramatically, but that’s where we are. I worked so hard to guide them through life and not let harm come to them, only to reach a point where it turns out the harm has been contained within them all along. The call is coming from inside the house, and there is nothing I can do to unplug that phone. All I can do is stand here on the outside with a warm blanket and a place to crash when they finally emerge from the struggle. I’d love to be able to tell you that it’s easy to do that, but everything in my body wants to run into that house and kick the ass of the knife-wielding lunatic that is threatening them, but I’m trapped out here with this damn blanket, trying to hold it together so I can mitigate the damage – and not add to it – when they emerge.
I am thankful that my place of employment values my work as a parent and therefore allows me time off to stand here with this blanket while I wait for them to emerge, and even extra time to make sure they are safe and warm, before I am forced to return to work. I am fortunate that this is the case, although I’m angry that it takes luck for anyone to be able to tend to loved ones when they desperately need tending to. I’ve taken 2 weeks so far, and it looks like I’ll need another 2 weeks to ensure everything stabilizes around here before I go back.
I’m using my time to tend to myself as well. Cooking healthy meals, taking walks, spending lots of time getting dog snuggles, driving grown children around town and to various appointments and social functions. Writing in my journal. Establishing a rhythm of the day/week/month. Little things that fall apart when a 40-hour workweek is my primary focus.
I thought I would have more energy for organizing, but it seems that my brain is rejecting anything that feels like work or that doesn’t immediately fulfill the needs of those in my direct care. Anything else feels like swimming through a sea of honey – tempting at first, but ultimately just a big sticky mess that doesn’t allow for any forward progress. Wishing I could go back to a time when it was easier, but realizing…it’s always been pretty fucking difficult. There have just been times when the work has been more rewarding. And the work will be rewarding again. I know it will. But right now – it’s pretty fucking unrelentingly unrewarding.
One thing about blogging that was helpful and that I miss is the tracking of progress. So, this is where I am right now. I might not write every day, but I will try to write once a week or so. For the purposes of tracking. Let this blog be the rope that anchors me as I plunge into this otherworld of gelatinous goo. I will emerge periodically, scrape the caul from my eyes, and write again.