Wow, my blog, has been so neglected. I don’t even know how or why I ended up with a ton of tumblr posts here, except I am glad to see beauty, it’s a good reminder.
I still need to retreat to my cave/sanctuary. Always.
I’m still “stuck” in family life. It is what I chose, and not knowing how to chose both (what ever the other is…), I am here. It would be better if I could full on embrace it. I know I look the part. Parenting and marriage, health and all that has stripped my character. I am plump/fat and that surely makes me look the mom part, right. I am not an evil or bad mom. I care for my children, I have a vague sense of what is needed, I let them do all the art they could possible want, and I love them. I wish I could just engage better, rather than trying to flee.
I am alone. It’s OK after years of apartment dwelling and all the ups and downs of neighbors knowing your business, and you knowing theirs. I do miss the ease of access to others, I am a very low energy person, so I appreciated the ease of walking out my door and going to see people. I made friends. Here, there is the dog park and my friend, who was my Step-mom’s best friend. It’s funny we ended up in the same town. She was my idol when I was a teenager. I loved her verve, and sailors mouth. We got on well and still do. The women I knew before were always busy–try arranging things between two moms with kids and all the schedules. It stinks. She has similar limitations being a caregiver to her “Mom”, the mother of her BF since high school (in Concord!). Cest le vie. The dog park is easy. I can talk or not talk. I haven’t made friendships that have led to coffee or anything, but I really enjoy talking with some of the regulars. I give up on soul mate friendship. Sort of. All I know is that it is hard nowadays. Dog park chit-chat is fine. Plus my house is usually a mess. It would take some full on trust and simpatico to have someone over.
I’m not exploring anything these days. No marital turmoil, or sexual identity issues, no drama. No religious epiphanies or gripes. Everything is what it is. I guess that is why I don’t blog that much. I have several half started diaries, but there is something abhorrent about writing in one. Maybe it’s fear I will put down everything I feel and want, and it will be found or read by my kids. Kids find everything, they are my keepers. Maybe it’s a little like putting to much negativity in one vulnerable space—-and I have no idea why blogging feels better. Maybe it’s because I censor myself a bit. Or even though I am writing, I am sending it to the universe, and I wouldn’t mind a response.