Finding Balance

I miss my blog.

Have I mentioned that I have a fear of boredom?  A need to be productive?  A compulsion to find validation for my efforts? . . . Yes!?

Well, it's true.  

With me it's either feast of famine.  All or nothing.  Black or white. . . actually it's never really black or white with me, clearly.  Scratch that--which is probably good, I was beginning to seem a little bipolar.  

Currently I am in the "All" phase.  Which would explain my lack of prolificness here.

Oh, I have been writing. . . and writing. . . and writing.  Just not here where I say what I want about what I want and to heck with the tone or mood or implied implications.  All my time has been spent writing to prove I have read. . . about human evolution. . . about Lutheranism and Catholicism. . . about what your  text color and font choice says about you . . . about how women writers affect me as a woman writer. . . about what Shakespeare meant when he said "They that have the power to hurt and will do none,/That do not do the thing they most do show." (because really, are they only good on the outside?)  . . . 

When what I really want to write about is how the color of your hair can change your whole outlook. . . how five year olds can make you laugh 'til your sides hurt and your eyes water. . . how having birthed a clone of myself is at once extremely rewarding and highly annoying. . . how choosing the right tile for my back splash seems of paramount importance and equally as difficult. . . How being a student apparently makes me more sexy to my husband. . .

And it doesn't end there.  

I started my house remodel and New Beginnings is coming up in two weeks.  This means I spend my time either doing homework, painting baseboards and getting counter top bids, or making scrapbooks and writing talks (Our theme for Young Women Personal Progress -- a youth group organization for my church-- is "Report & Record"  which translates to making a scrapbook and journal of their year.  We are making books at New Beginnings and they will meet quarterly to add handouts they have collected, journal entries they have written in conjunction with goals, and pictures from the activities they have attended.  I am supposed to have a sample book made and a talk prepared by the 18th--and technically I just got released from this calling, but I have to see this portion through--can't leave them hanging!) .

And I miss my camera. . .

The only pictures I have taken of late are of the slow progress we are making on our house.  Which would be quicker since Rob has been home more days than not this year, if my backside wasn't glued to a chair in front of my computer 26 hours a day.   (I would say I missed my treadmill, but we both know that would be a lie -- my husband might start missing it for me soon though!)

I miss cooking. . . 

My recipe web site misses me too.  I haven't posted a new recipe since December--probably because I have been eating spaghetti and nachos and the like.  One night I got really creative and made corn bread muffins with hot dogs cut up in them and cheese on top. . . surprisingly yummy, I might add.  Rather like fancy corn dogs.  I am putting all my money towards the kitchen remodel and am trying to make dinners from whatever I have in my kitchen and pantry.

And I miss you. . .

I miss the comments I get, and blogs I haven't got time to read, the family I don't see or speak to often enough. . .    

In the end it's all about paper.  Paper means validation.  

That little paper that says I am smart because I finished college.  Hopefully twice.  And that other piece of paper that I can take to the bank.  And maybe the pack of papers that those will help me get that says, "Dang it, I am a good writer." . . . which will lead to a whole book of paper written by me. . . which will bring more paper that I can take to the bank and maybe buy a bracelet with. . .  or a car--that's up to all of you.  But I don't really write for the money.  I write because I love it, and I crave a little praise, but a check would be nice too.  

So, in the name of paper and fear of boredom, I will endure.  And hope you miss me when I don't visit as often.