I write. I do happen to have a degree in writing… but I acquired that degree almost 10 years ago and today I am a bit rusty, so forgive me. Turns out, it doesn’t pay the bills and it’s hard to find time to nurse a talent when you’re broke! And married! And have a baby! Oy! These days… yes I said it… because quite frankly while I am only in my 30s, I do find the social network era to be quite claustrophobic in the sense that we are constantly bombarded with just an overview of each other’s lives. Do we really want more than an overview? I think we should. In my “profiles,” I look pretty happy – you’d think I had all my shit together! I look like I have the perfect marriage, job, life – and so do all my friends. The argument can certainly be made that no one wants to see the skeletons in our closets… at least that is one of the cliched remarks that I receive when I question the amount of sickening happiness and perfection that seems to be the cyber facade! I would like to argue that a little bit of honesty takes the pressure off. Whenever I stumble across someone’s less-than-perfect blog/post/thought/tweet/what-have-you – I breathe a little easier knowing that I’m not the only one who feels like calling it quits from time to time! My pictures are as happy. But my life isn’t always and so I decided there should be a place for the not-so-happy moments of life. They should be shared as well.
My life is a roller coaster and sometimes I do believe that I am being observed through a tv screen and someday someone will call “cut” and I will begin to understand how everything came to be the way it is today. What can I say? It keeps me laughing. Until “cut” is called I am a willing participant in this life that is mine. My marriage is about 80% fabulous (down 10% from last week, up by 70% from a month ago – you get the idea) and 20% WTF. My job is 90% fabulous. My life as a mother is my refuge. My son is my light and my joy… but I have a separate blog about that. This blog, while inevitably touching upon myself as mother, is not about mothering. It will, hopefully, help me understand myself a bit more, which will inevitably effect my ability to mother best. My extended family is a cluster of alcoworkaholics, masters of denial, Southern belles and Yankee doodles. I will do my best to explain why I am the most healthy among them. It’s called therapy. I’m happy about 65% of the time, which is pretty fabulous I’d say. Like I said. I write. I also ponder and doubt and laugh and cry. I hope you enjoy this attempt at truth. I know I will.
Men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing had happened.