It's been over two years and 500+ posts (I know!) since I launched this blog. I do believe it's time to spread it all out on the floor and take a good look at what I've got here.
I like to blog. Qualifier: I like to blog... when I have something to write. Otherwise, it's like the homework assignment from hell: the report was assigned three months ago, it's due next week, and I haven't started yet. Not that I have decades of experience with procrastination or anything, mind you.
I know this assignment is self-imposed and no one really cares if I post, but that doesn't seem to matter. I actually have four blogs, but this is the only one that gives me the guilts. Why don't my other blogs cause me as much grief?
My theory: The other blogs are about 'something'; a cooking/eating blog, a family blog, and a meta-blog/directory kind of thing. There's a topic and a focus that usually makes it pretty easy to figure out what I need to say next, even though I don't do it nearly often enough.
But this blog? Well, I wanted it to be a humor blog, where my heretofore-undiscovered gift for turning the wackiness of my life into compelling, quirky stories would be magically revealed. People would fall in love with my tales and tell their friends. Word would spread and I would become one of Those Bloggers, the ones that everyone knows. I would be asked to write for other blogs, and maybe even find myself cranking out a magazine article or two....
OK, so the whole Gift thing didn't quite work out, but I did find some stuff to write about and even learned a little about my limits and abilities in the process. No big. I could just keep doing what I'm doing. It's fun. S'all good. No big. Yadda yadda yadda.
But somewhere along the way, something happened. Life settled down. And what happens when the well of dysfunction runs dry? It sounds pretty much like this: Pheeeewwwwwwww.... < -- (insert stereotypical loss-of-turgidity sound here.)
Rest assured, it's not that I'm no longer dysfunctional, it's just that my life seems to have finally fallen somewhat into place. There's no longer a ginormous angst-fueled engine of turmoil and discontent fueling my fuck-it-all-to-hell attitude.
Apparently that doesn't leave me a lot to write about. As you've probably noticed.
Lack of inspiration aside, the biggest eye-opener is the stats. Out of my dozen or two daily visits, do you want to know what my most-read post is, the one that brings the most traffic to my site through Google searches? Check it out.
Is that really the best I've got to offer? More than anyone wanted to know about fucking plarn? Really? It's a lot like putting on your new dark-wash stretch bootcut jeans and cute new top and thinking yeah, the jeans may be plus-size, but you still look pretty hip for an old broad... only to catch sight of your reflection somewhere and realize that in fact, you look like every other nondescript, graying, fifty-something mom out there with too much junk in the trunk. And even worse, you used the word 'hip' to describe yourself. And do the kids even say 'junk in the trunk' anymore? Not that that's ever happened to me... I'm just guessing what that oddly specific scenario might feel like, is all.
Anyhooze, my attempts at brilliant wacky weirdness apparently pale in comparison to the mysteries of crocheting things out of cut up grocery bags. Although this week someone did find me by searching for the phrase 'cooter game' -- that's encouraging, isn't it?
Long story not short enough, I'm fumbling around for a focus here. It may take awhile, but you're welcome to hang and see what happens.
In the words of an inordinately large number of ER visitors, "Hold my beer and watch this!"