Thursday, January 19, 2012

Birthday blog

It's not my birthday. It's my blog's birthday. Ok, technically yesterday was the one year anniversary of my first post, but I have been crabby lately. Really crabby. So crabby that many days I think "I hate this stupid blog. I should just delete it and be done with it." Of course, there is no logical connection between my crabby mood and the necessity to delete this blog, my little writing forum that I have, for the most part, really enjoyed over the last year. But I am rarely logical, often moody, and very, very fond of obsessing over what I "should" do. Thus, in the middle of wallowing in my crabbiness I will remember that I "should" write something and then the crabiness intensifies ever so slightly and if I delete the blog then maybe I can remove one source of crabby production and then voilá, instantly I will be less crabby. What would Spock think of my logic? What would Spock think of this whole blog? It's fitting, isn't it, that I should make a Star Trek reference in my one-year commemorative blog post, since my very first post also included a Star Trek reference?

Anyway, when I began writing these posts a year ago, I didn't really have a clear vision of what I wanted it to be all about. The phrase "a mental dumping ground" really seems to sum it up best. I thought I would write more about books I've read, as an occasional "feature," or maybe write more about my garden, which is a huge interest of mine during the warmer months. But books and gardening never seemed to fit with the mental dumping I did in so many other posts. Motherhood and my daughter's quirky autism spectrum-y behaviors could take up a lot of this, too, but there are days when my thoughts don't really converge with that part of my life either. So I've never bothered limiting myself to a specific focus and I have been wondering lately if I should change that. I was thinking about re-naming the blog (again) but wonder if that just gets annoying. And I am quite fond of the little bubbles floating up above. Anyone out there with kids ever watch the Teletubbies? Anyone out there without kids ever watch the Teletubbies? If so, that's kind of strange. The grassy hill in the bubble image above reminds me of Teletubbie land, which always struck me as a really pleasant locale, except for maybe the resident Teletubbies who I could see kind of wearing on you after a while with all that hugging and soft, gentle cooing they do. But Teletubbie land is always sunny, the grass is green, flowers are blooming and cute, little, fuzzy bunnies are hanging around nibbling on the vegetation. It looks very serene. No traffic, no pollution, the noo noo cleans up after you. Nice! Anyway, major digression, but that is another reason I've grown attached to the image of the bubbles floating above a grassy hill. I can always use a little serenity.

This is all just me taking stock in where the bubble lights are at right now. I am open to feedback. I'll even share with you the new name I was entertaining: mad chronicles. My daughter's initials are MAD, and yes, I was aware of that when I chose her name. Mad is also another term for crazy, which I generally characterize myself as, although I am also aware that I am not technically clinically mentally ill. I mean, I'm sure someone somewhere could diagnose me with something, but so, too, could just about anyone else out there be "diagnosable." In which case, we are all nuts, and isn't that nice that we are not alone? And mad, of course, also just means angry, which is not an unusual emotion for me to be feeling. So what do you think? One problem could be that there is already a blog out there in cyberspace called "Mad Chronicles" but don't ask me what it's about because most of it (other than the words "mad chronicles") is in another language, as well as another alphabet, and which one that is I haven't the foggiest idea.

So this is where I find myself and my "online writing" (which sounds better than blog) one year after the snowy, dark winter evening that produced the january blog. More will follow, no doubt. Maybe I will tell you all about my haircut, which makes me look like a child. A child with an oddly aged-looking complexion. Or maybe not.

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