I thought I would check to see if I still exist in the curious world of blogs since I haven't added anything since June of last year. Turns out I do exist. Which is nice. I have just spent about 45 minutes reading through another woman's blog- I have to figure out how to put the link in here- about her life in the Midwest on a farm. No Starbucks for miles, 8 year old daughter hauling hay, lamenting the lack of creme rinse in her life. Her writing is so funny and I feel like I would like her in real life. So weird, this whole blog universe. I am not really sure what the point of blogging is- much of it feels like masturbating in public to me. (What I imagine that would be like.) Is this important work? Does this help us become the writer we are supposed to be by forcing us to find a voice and imagine an audience? If so, is this anything but practice for real writing? Why aren't I working my poems right now? I must read more about this experience. I find that is an excellent way to avoid writing.



I can't help feeling a little weird. ( Who am I even saying this to????????UGH!?!?!?!)

From the time I was about 16 until I was about 21 I kept journals. They were diary-like (sort of in an Are You There God-It's Me Margaret-ish sense). Cloth covered flowery lined books that I filled with lies. (Are they lies if you don't know they are while you write them?)I was always aware that I was writing for an audience, though I can't say that I know who I imagined reading my words. I know I didn't write some things for fear they would be read, and I did write other things in the hopes they would be read. I know it (the writing) wasn't meant for me and I have no idea what they did for me besides provide me with the satisfaction of finishing one and starting another. Like I was saying- Look, I have filled a book about myself- I must exist. (Didn't I just ask that of my blog?)



I haven't recycled them yet but I haven't cracked one open in about 8 years. Since I got married. I don't really know what to do with them- Maybe I will decoupage a lampshade out of torn out pages from my journals. Maybe I will burn them- a funeral for my old illusions.



So, will this be the place for my new illusions? I cannot say. I like to say I am waking up. (I have actually never uttered those words, but that is how I have been feeling for about 5 years).



I will use this space though, as a space for finding out the answers to my questions and as a space to generate more questions.



I will maybe even write about my book soon- Up the Down Staircase is my working title.



Maybe this blog can be all things. I can write down what my life has looked like, I can find my voice, I can use the space to connect to the world in some way. I am sort of excited but a little skeptical.



Hopefully I will know more upon my return.

Goodnight.