I am a loyal and committed person. Really, I am. Ask any of my friends, former colleagues, fellow PTA slaves, or Cherubs.
But this blogging thing? For some reason it doesn’t “stick” with me. Um, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m about as loyal to this site as I am to my brand of toothpaste.
As the Small One put it, this morning my breath “stank all cinnamon-y instead of stinking all mint-y.”
But what does he know?
And what do I know, for that matter?
I mean…what is the purpose of this site? To make money?
Please. The good people at BlogHer are onto me every time I put down the proverbial microphone and they revoke my meager kickback privileges quicker than you can say my dog’s full name.
Which happens to be Gwendolyn Jane Brooks Coates Dog Thing Poop Corner.
But that is a story for another day. A day when I have the opportunity to sing for you the song that I penned around her name.
So why do I do it? Blog, I mean?
I don’t have a “niche,” as they say in the blogosphere.
Folks don’t come around here to glean Feng Shui tips. Or Paleo recipes. Or Dear Abby-esque advice. Or crocheting how-tos. I write about a little bit of this and a snippet of that, and I’m not much of an authority on anything.
I do it because I just like it. The writing. Until I publish that first novel, this little corner of cyberspace serves as my virtual calling card and a big recycling receptacle for all the oddness that flits around in my sassy little brain.
But sometimes? I don’t like it. The writing. My sassy little brain runs dry, so to speak, and the words do not flow. And so then I stop. Not forever…more like those Black-Eyed Susans in my backyard that wither away in the fall, appear dead to the world through the winter months, and then return with renewed strength each summer.
Yeah. Like that. My name *is* Susan, after all.
Why, yes…yes, it is.
Only my eyes are brown instead of black. I’m not one to rumble, usually.
But I did wither a bit this fall. There was the loss of my sweet friend, followed by a series of sucker punches delivered by Life that left me almost literally gasping for air and wondering what the eff God had up His sleeve when He allowed for the blows to keep coming.
And I still don’t know what the eff He has up his sleeve.
But I’m still here.
Breathing. Gasping at times…but breathing. Each breath is a reminder that I am alive. I am a survivor.
I am stronger than I know thanks to this God who is stronger than any of us know.
Is that vague enough for you?
Perfect. Maybe I’ll delve into it here one day…
…and maybe not.
But in the meantime?
I’m back for awhile.
And I think I quite like it. Thank you for coming by today, friends. And please do drop in next Thursday, when I most certainly will have something more jovial to say. Something a bit more Feng Shui-ish or Paleo-like, perhaps. Because in between all of the sucker punches?
I’ve been a busy little bee. And I can’t wait to show you what I’ve been up to.
Linking with Shell at Things I Can’t Say