I've been horribly lackadaisical about blogging for the past week or so. Course, some days I think it'd be easier to blog if I had a tangible audience to blog for (yes - that means you.. leave a comment some time and let me know I'm not just talking to myself, as usual!).
Still, while absent, I did make the finalist list for this month's Blogging 4 Books. A little 'Yippee' for that.
In other news, I'm trying to get back into writing on a consistent daily basis. The first two weeks Mr. Clean was gone were difficult. I couldn't write. A few words here or there. A paragraph or two that didn't merit the time spent tapping on the keys. Crap, in other words.
I had other expectations that failed to rise to the challenge, as well - in a gi-normously disappointing manner. The optimism sunk to a new low and the cynicism rose to a new high, screaming, "What the hell did you expect? I mean, REALLY?!" I spent the weekend lazing about, wallowing. I hate lazing. I hate wallowing. I really liked watching "In Her Shoes" via Netflix... but then I went back to the lazing and wallowing and deep sighing.
This week, I've decided to say 'Fruitbat it'. I'm tired of being disappointed and of having expectations that are, apparently, too much for those around me to live up to. I'm desperately tired of wallowing on the floor, bemoaning the fact that my expectations must reek like rotten broccoli.
So I Am Writing.
I should have been doing so all along. Lesson learned.
4 days and counting until Mr. Clean comes home. I'm worried about him. Bird Flu has shown up where he's at. He's emailed that he's not eating much... fruit and rice. Little stuff like that because his stomach is revolting against the culinary culture there. After two weeks. Concerning. I'm trying not to worry but that's like saying I'm trying not to have hazel eyes today... or I'm trying not to be a Mom today. I worry. It's what I do. [sigh]
So now I'm taking my non-wallowing, disappointment ignoring self to the couch with my laptop, a plate of homemade spaghetti, and a tall glass of cranberry iced tea... where I'm going to eat, write, and watch Las Vegas.
Still, while absent, I did make the finalist list for this month's Blogging 4 Books. A little 'Yippee' for that.
In other news, I'm trying to get back into writing on a consistent daily basis. The first two weeks Mr. Clean was gone were difficult. I couldn't write. A few words here or there. A paragraph or two that didn't merit the time spent tapping on the keys. Crap, in other words.
I had other expectations that failed to rise to the challenge, as well - in a gi-normously disappointing manner. The optimism sunk to a new low and the cynicism rose to a new high, screaming, "What the hell did you expect? I mean, REALLY?!" I spent the weekend lazing about, wallowing. I hate lazing. I hate wallowing. I really liked watching "In Her Shoes" via Netflix... but then I went back to the lazing and wallowing and deep sighing.
This week, I've decided to say 'Fruitbat it'. I'm tired of being disappointed and of having expectations that are, apparently, too much for those around me to live up to. I'm desperately tired of wallowing on the floor, bemoaning the fact that my expectations must reek like rotten broccoli.
So I Am Writing.
I should have been doing so all along. Lesson learned.
4 days and counting until Mr. Clean comes home. I'm worried about him. Bird Flu has shown up where he's at. He's emailed that he's not eating much... fruit and rice. Little stuff like that because his stomach is revolting against the culinary culture there. After two weeks. Concerning. I'm trying not to worry but that's like saying I'm trying not to have hazel eyes today... or I'm trying not to be a Mom today. I worry. It's what I do. [sigh]
So now I'm taking my non-wallowing, disappointment ignoring self to the couch with my laptop, a plate of homemade spaghetti, and a tall glass of cranberry iced tea... where I'm going to eat, write, and watch Las Vegas.
|
I love that "Fruitbat it".
Think I'll save that one for next time I feel a bit like that.
I think it's the time of year but everyone seems a little off their game.
Oh and I am one of life's worriers too!