The other day I read a really touching post on my friend Mike’s blog, and it got me to thinking. What, exactly, is it that I’m trying to do here with this blog? I like to pretend that I don’t have any expectations for this space here, that it’s just a place where I can go to throw down a few random observations, share some light-hearted moments, record an occasional memory or two, but even with those kind of low expectations, I feel like I’ve gotten a bit lazy lately. And it all seems so… inconsequential. Nobody really needs to know about the new funky color I’ve painted my toes (sparkly Smurf blue).
So I took a bit of a breather. (I was also sick — again — and just feeling relatively low energy all around. At the end of the night, after tucking the boys in bed, I’d often just pass out. And it’s hard to write anything, no matter how meaningless, when you’re unconscious.)
I’m thinking it’s time to recharge with a Lighthouse class. And maybe a … wait for it … fiction class. Just to mix things up, focus on some of the more artsy elements to the act of writing. So that I may one day actually be able to say that I come here to write and not just type. There’s a difference you know.
eleven bee 