sometimes, blogging feels like a chore to me. i hate this. it fills me with guilt and a sense of being overwhelmed with what i think i should be doing rather than a desire to want to do. there are times when i want to write about something that doesn't involve making something but, because i told myself that my blog is specifically for crafting, i stop myself from including anything else. what i'm discovering, though, is that i'm inspired by more than that. more than the sum of those parts. i want to write about life. about being a woman, a wife, a mother, a student, a misfit, a goddess. i want to write about love and loss and sex and food and things that make me feel. and i don't want to let myself get hung up on how long or short the post is or...even...whether or not someone reads it (audible gulp).
i don't want to call this a challenge or a regimen or an overhaul. i want it to be more of a.....a first kiss, a closed-eyed taste, a love affair. with myself, with my blog, with where i am in my life.
this morning, i had an impromptu coffee date with a woman who's a fellow regular at the coffee house i frequent. she prefers reading british publications of magazines, is saddened by the fact that her friends don't know the difference between a narcissus and a paper white and thinks pinterest is bullshit (audible gasp). it was a lively discussion. and one that made me long for sending and receiving an actual letter, turning the pages of a book, making a call from a phone booth, eating a grilled cheese and chocolate malt at the woolworth's counter.