You guys, it’s been so long since I’ve written anything other than a recap on the blog that I almost feel the need to reintroduce myself.
But I can’t think of anything to say.
Seriously, writer’s block has hit me hard the past six—eight?—weeks. And by writer’s block I mean disinterest, distraction, and disillusionment. Throw in the dark, bitterly cold months of the Minnesota winter that annually eats away at my soul and you’ve got quite a despondent cocktail.
Which I’ll drink.
This time of year I’m not picky.
Since the new year I’ve found myself in a funk, writing-wise. Much like every bit of exposed skin on my body, my idea-well has dried up. To be honest, it didn’t really trouble me until a few weeks ago. I mean, for about a month I could blame the bustle of the holidays (of which I was the sole planner and executioner) and my own resulting selfish indulgences (i.e., lots of Netflix, hot baths, and naps) for the void.
Just kidding … sort of … but that’s always a funny comeback when you need one, isn’t it?
In all seriousness, I blame time—that cruel, cruel bitch.
Not only has she taken my thick head of hair, eyesight, taut under-eye skin, tolerance of anything more than a glass and a half of wine, and the day-to-day presence of my firstborn daughter, she’s also taken my motivation. Because after almost four years of writing nonsense here on the blog (four years?!?) I’ve pretty much covered it all.
Husband snoring? ✓
Celebrity nonsense? ✓
Childhood memories? ✓
Parenting advice? ✓
Kids getting older? ✓
Me getting older? ✓
Over sharing about my internal organs? ✓
That time we almost got shot … twice? ✓
And sure, I’ve done other things while I’ve been hibernating—I’ve started two new crochet blankets; read four books; am on season three of Gilmore Girls which I started rewatching from the beginning last month; organized a few kitchen drawers and messed them back up again; spent hours online planning a trip we probably won’t even take; started a new Pinterest board; contemplated the passing of time and how before I know it my 20-year-old will be living across the world, my 14-year-old will be in college, and I’ll be collecting cats and tears; and used the Konmari method to fold all my t-shirts—but for some reason, writing about any or all of those things doesn’t light a fire under me the way it used to. (You’re welcome.)
Which was pretty much the same as seeing this—
And before I knew it I was gulping my coffee, ignoring my eye bags, shooting my cat haphazardly, and sitting down here at my computer happily tapping away at my keyboard, in between getting up to do this—
Sure, it’s a nothing of a post, but still, for the first time in awhile I felt like doing it, which I figure is pretty much the same thing as me seeing my shadow.
So here’s to motivation, warmer days, the sound of rain, and my continued refusal to acknowledge that March is the snowiest month of the year in Minnesota.
Betcha can’t wait for that balsamic beef post now, am I right?
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