I posed this query last year when I began mine. As I look back over the last year and consider why I started to blog, I realize I share the compulsion that many of my favorite bloggers possess.
But I am decidedly less interesting in many ways.
I have no social anxiety to speak of. Don't hide in bathrooms at conventions, don't shy away from daylight, am not recovering from any controlled (or legal) substance abuse, haven't been molested or assaulted or invaded with cancer or driven to mar my body with tattoos or excessive (read in places you cannot see in public) piercings.
I enjoy some stuff that is considered cliche if your daily yardstick of normal includes balancing your meds while wrenching, then sharing, heartbreaking stories of childhood or adult trauma of any nature from your core, or if you cannot decide if you are happy in your own skin and are trying on figurative new facades on a regular basis.
My lack of quirks may doom me to blogospheric mediocrity, in the end.
In the meantime, I will continue to embrace my little Desert Magnolia as a place to posit stream of consciousness musings and play with words. The word play, the communication in a free form venue, well, it makes me happy and challenges me and makes me playful and inclined to be sassy (it's relative, I get that) or saucy or occasionally insightful in the process.
I've considered shock therapy just to see if some scary stuff shakes loose, but think it might render me unemployable, which is completely unacceptable given that I have a daughter in college and bills to pay and retirement to save for and all that.
So, I plan to live in the moment, share what feels right, and generally maintain my 'mistress of my own domain' attitude unless and until I decide to change course.
And you will be the first to know.
But I am decidedly less interesting in many ways.
I have no social anxiety to speak of. Don't hide in bathrooms at conventions, don't shy away from daylight, am not recovering from any controlled (or legal) substance abuse, haven't been molested or assaulted or invaded with cancer or driven to mar my body with tattoos or excessive (read in places you cannot see in public) piercings.
I enjoy some stuff that is considered cliche if your daily yardstick of normal includes balancing your meds while wrenching, then sharing, heartbreaking stories of childhood or adult trauma of any nature from your core, or if you cannot decide if you are happy in your own skin and are trying on figurative new facades on a regular basis.
My lack of quirks may doom me to blogospheric mediocrity, in the end.
In the meantime, I will continue to embrace my little Desert Magnolia as a place to posit stream of consciousness musings and play with words. The word play, the communication in a free form venue, well, it makes me happy and challenges me and makes me playful and inclined to be sassy (it's relative, I get that) or saucy or occasionally insightful in the process.
I've considered shock therapy just to see if some scary stuff shakes loose, but think it might render me unemployable, which is completely unacceptable given that I have a daughter in college and bills to pay and retirement to save for and all that.
So, I plan to live in the moment, share what feels right, and generally maintain my 'mistress of my own domain' attitude unless and until I decide to change course.
And you will be the first to know.
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