Hello, all (however many of you may still be with me)…
Part of me feels it necessary to apologize for yet another tremendous gap in my posting habits, while part of me feels as though it’s not entirely unexpected. And while I would like to attribute this absence to a whole host of “appropriate” excuses (see: moving out of my apartment, taking finals, watching an unforgivable amount of Nineteen Kids and Counting and Cake Boss) I’m afraid that, in all honesty, my excuse for not writing is mostly because I feel as though I’ve had nothing to say.
I’ve been having more than my fair share of reading ADD lately. I’ve picked up over half a dozen books in the week and a half that I’ve been home, and given them all about 50 pages, but still nothing is holding my interest. I’m hoping this is because my brain is still too deluded with the whole reading-means-school-means-work trap that it often falls in to at the end of the semester, and thus will wear off soon. It better, because I’m not sure how much longer I can stand not reading. And the most frustrating thing of all is that the reason I can’t read isn’t physical, but due to some unnameable mental block. Please tell me I’m not the only one out there who feels like this from time to time?
However, the point of this post is not to talk about how I really have nothing to post about, book-wise. It is to acknowledge, both to myself and to the few out there who still find the time to hop on over to this lovely little blog, that I have spent far too little time with myself in this past year. After a few of my very good friends moved away, I found myself put in the awkward, middle-school-esque position of having to make all new friends, and because of the way that I am and the way that my mind operates, I went in to overdrive on the social front. In doing so I was able to meet and form relationships with some wonderful new people. However, the downside was that I seem to have lost the wonderful relationship I once had with myself. I can’t tell you when this happened, and I can’t tell you how this happened, only that it did, and that it saddens me.
And so, as I find myself yet again in a situation where the friend-count is scarce (moving back home for the summer means a lack of both high school AND college friends) I’m vowing, both to myself and to readers, that I will be using this summer to work on myself – remembering the things that I love to do, why I loved to do them, and perhaps even learning how to do a few new things that I may just come to love (or not, which may be just as beneficial). For those of you that have been reading, what comes next may not surprise you – it’s list time:
1.) I want to take up my knitting again, which wasn’t exactly something that I dropped, but something that was demoted to the state of garter stitch scarves and stockinette hats. I want sweaters. Socks. And, maybe, even a felted bag or two.
2.) I’m going to learn how to cook. Blame Julie and Julia, blame my southern family, but it’s about damn time I knew how to do this. And I don’t mean put a chicken in the frying pan with some peppers kind of cooking (although the fajitas that my dad makes this way are delicious). I mean recipes. International cooking. Skills that take development, trial and error. I want to fall in love with food again, and not just eating it. Making it. Getting to know it on it’s own terms. It’s something that many members of my family already know how to do. Now it’s my turn.
3.) My friend Rachael and I are planning on trying out for the Kansas City roller derby league in this upcoming fall/winter and, as part of that, we’ve both committed to going to the skating rink every weekend. Now, perhaps the cooking and the knitting don’t jive very well with getting bruised and beaten in the name of knocking out another girl on rollerskates, but hey. What you love is what you love, right? And while it’s been a while since I rollerskated (read:: not since the 6th grade) I’m – perhaps grossly enough – looking forward to a few good bumps and bruises.
4.) It’s time to really develop a love for the things I already know I like. Vintage fashion, vintage music, gardening, bead-work, art, opera, dance. I’m tired of paying vocal adoration to things that I can’t go that in-depth into. Yes, I know about all of these things. And yes, I know that I enjoy all of these things. But enjoyment isn’t love. And love isn’t passion. This summer is about getting back to passions. Big and small. And the ones that go beyond reading, which is still my biggest passion.
And thus, to end the list, I want to end with the hope of dusting off this blog once and for all. I’m hoping that, by being able to widen my gaze past the purely literary, I’ll have the motivation and subject matter to focus on. Because blogging is yet another like that I would love to see become a passion. And I think that, to do that, it’s time to spread the love around.