Not supposed to blog while drunk...but I can't help myself.
Why do I have this blog? I have no battles to fight anymore. And that's really what makes a good blog, isn't it? Unless you're reading for some educational value (how to sew, how to scrapbook, how to photograph, etc), it's all about watching someone battle until they are either bloodied or triumphant. Will they or won't they...x...y...z...? Rubber-necking at its finest.
I started this blog to keep in touch with family. Now they're all either dead or so depressed by what I write that they don't read anymore. I was supposed to write about the adventures of our lives with my little family of four. But it wasn't this family of four. I can never escape that. And when I write about it I always wonder what that other life would have looked like...where grandma didn't pay for a headstone for our baby Alex. We wouldn't have known Myles (the Sophie's Choice of it all is so dramatic).
Does that make sense? I don't know...I've had a really big glass of red wine.
So my choices are to (1) smile and make lemonade (in which case I may have to puke at my own positivity); or (2) continue moaning and groaning about what a real mess it all is...this life I'm living (in which case I may have to puke at my own negativity).
I don't particularly like me anymore...in case you didn't notice.
I'm just too tired to write about battles. And I don't believe in fairytale happily ever afters either. Grandma's dead...so what are the rubber neckers looking for here now?
I want to write about the $12 of fabric I bought today that will be a Valentine's photo backdrop for my friend's baby girl (not for my boys because...well...boys don't do Valentine's photos once they learn the word "no")...how I'm going to spend tomorrow cutting out paper hearts to hang (for a DIY feel)...and I really hope they turn out. I have a vision...now I just need to execute it.
But really...I know nobody who is left reading this blog really wants to read about any of that. That might have been good stuff for the original audience of mom, grandmas, and aunts...
Now I think it's time to shut this thing down.
To quote my eight-year-old...