(updated October 2012)
When I started this blog in 2005 it served primarily to air my grief and vent my depression. I liked that my Crazy wasn’t hidden between the dusty pages of a fabric covered notebook, and at first I didn’t care whether anybody read it. In a season of sadness and despair, writing publicly made me feel alive.
Lately all I write about here is city life, Jesus, and shit my kids say, and I am tremendously content in that genre. I write when I can, and you can read it if you want. Or not. But secretly I hope you will.
There was a time when I would have enjoyed “getting discovered” as a writer, to be able to hold a bound book with my name on it. But if that never happens, I know my words still have a heartbeat. My thoughts have an address. My kids have a living history of all my rants, tantrums, and wisdoms.
And someday maybe this blog will save me again, as it did when I first started. When my mind is filled with holes and everything seems unfamiliar, you can drop in for a visit and read to me a post or two.
What a lovely writer, I will say. Do I know her?