As a general –but by no means written– rule, I try to avoid overly journalistic blog posts. As of recently, several people have commented along the lines of, “You blog. Awesome. Is it kind of like writing an online journal? I just think I’d feel weird letting the entire world read my diary, you know?” Of course I’m thinking, “Actually, no, that has always been my secret dream. To die, and have all of my old journals published and devoured by the mass market.” But maybe that’s just me. I don’t really blog in the same way that I journal or no one would read my blog. Meanwhile, I’m simultaneously aware that even my worst journal entry has a pretty high chance of being more entertaining than the average human’s best entry. Again, just me?
The truth is, most of my journals are actually pretty boring. I’m a lot more introspective than I let on (both in this blog and in my daily face-to-face conversations), and when I journal, I tend to be really wordy and emotional. (This surprises no one, I’m sure.) So forgive me, if this post isn’t written with my usual wit and whimsy. I actually worked out at the gym today (and sweated a little) and now I’ve just settled down with a plate of baked brie and something akin to a walker’s high in my veins.
I’m feeling a little introspective.
My neighbor and I sit at little outdoor bistro table in the “breezeway” between our houses almost every afternoon, watching not only our own children, but the children of at least three other families while they
terrorize play with each other in the cul-de-sac . On many occasions, one of us (usually me) has just woken up from a nap. I’ve never really told her this, but I really love this afternoon ritual which has developed slowly over the past 5 or 6 months.
Often we spend the time complaining about our 1st world problems, which have recently included “The problems with crappy dental insurance,” “You paid how much to have a baby last year?” and “I didn’t get the 20% discount on my brie last night but it would probably cost $1.60 in gas to take it back and correct it, so whatever.”
I’ve been struggling with disappointment, discontentment, and lack of personal and social satisfaction lately, and I’ve been embarrassed to admit it.
Falling asleep last night I was stricken with The Undertoad (which turned out to simply be a final surge of PMS) and what was left of the rational side of my brain was scolding the other 90% with, “Will you just get over yourself already?”
There are entire groups of people who must go all the way to a 3rd world country to have their life-perspective turned upside down in order to be changed. Without signing up for a mission trip, I’ve decided what I need today is to count my blessings.
So I’m going to go do that right now.