Seven Drafts Worth of Crazy

I have 7 draft posts in my posts folder right now.

( In the spirit of authenticity, I should confess that there are 7 draft posts at the TOP of my folder right now and I actually don't know how many there are all together. But that seemed wordy for an opening sentence.)

That's how many posts I've attempted to write since January, when I had every intention of going back to blogging (again).

I've been blogging since 2007 and I'm not sure when it transitioned from something that helped my depression/anxiety/general weirdness to something that I avoided when I was feel especially anxious and/or depressed, but transition it did.

I also stopped feeling comfortable telling my kids' stories, which made me question which stories of my own I could tell. There were a lot of stories that I didn't feel I could tell here, for various reasons. Like I sort of wanted to write about my job, but I knew if I deeply examined my feelings about the job - the job I bragged about on Facebook and that would have been my dream job in 2007 - I would get even worse at it.

To be clear, I sucked so much at that job that they're not renewing my contract next year. And after digesting the massive blow to my self-esteem and my wallet, I realized that I did not, in fact, love what was supposed to be my dream job. I am tempted now to list exactly why I wasn't considered good at it, and why that's not entirely my fault and how their version of good isn't necessarily right but. . .

that's just my ego talking.

My ego is a loud bitch and she feels like we not only screwed up the job this year, but that we also screwed up a volunteer position that was dear to our heart. . . .

(You're noticing the weirdness thing now, aren't you?)

and she would like to populate this post with excuses. She would also like me to stop talking about her because, you know, . . . .

WEIRDNESS.

Anyway, the 7 drafts. Most of them are some version of this post - disorganized brain dumps that I'm not sure should ever be published. But clearly, until I publish a poorly organized, not clearly written brain dump I'm not going to be able to go back to actual blogging.

And I really do want to go back to actual blogging.