(Okay, technically it was a year ago yesterday morning, but I couldn’t resist an ’80s-song reference.)
One year ago, I began this blog by telling you that I was a liar. (Update: I did become a Facebooker a few months ago. But I still have a plain old–emphasis on old– cell phone and no Twitter account– in other words, the crown and sash aren’t forthcoming.) As I mentioned, I’ve enjoyed getting back to my writerly ways, and I’m thrilled that there are people who seem to enjoy the results. (Yes, I have readers now! And commenters! And subscribers!) So, thank you, and the next time you come across an annoying word or phrase, I hope you’ll think of me.
When I was a kid, I always thought that I would feel older or different on my birthday. I never did. But in the five days since I turned 3 thir twenty-nine plus one, I have felt a slight difference. I kind of feel like I have an extra shadow trailing behind me, reminding me that time is marching swiftly on. Sadly, this shadow has done nothing to curb my recent addiction to Solitaire.
In exactly one month from today, I will be…well, no longer in my 20s. Now, I certainly don’t think that 30 is old, but it’s an age at which I feel that things, both personally and professionally, should be more settled than they are for me. And so I have come to think of this birthday as Scary Milestone No. 1™.
Halloween always makes me miss being a kid.
A few weeks ago, as I do occasionally, I was looking through a school memory book. It’s full of tests, report cards, drawings, and other assorted things (among them, a literal LOL-inducing letter to then-President Reagan), including a few poems, and since it’s been so poetry-centric around here lately (ahem, when I’ve posted), I thought it would be cute (and hopefully not self-indulgent) to post one of my ‘early works.’ It’s from June 2, 1988; I was just about to turn 8 1/2:
Funny, creative, smart
Writing, drawing, walking
Mostly my bed. And also, for a few hours Wednesday night/early Thursday morning, the E.R., after I briefly passed out. Yeah, I’m sick. And bored (whoever thought sleep would lose its charms?). And feeling rather isolated.
With all the poems I’ve posted lately, you might think me a long-time poet, but honestly, I have never written as much poetry as I have here, not even at the height of my creative-writing period (a.k.a. elementary school/early junior high). In fact, I haven’t done this much writing, period, since then. I’m pleased to settle back into this long-neglected, but still comfortable, space.
Returning to my writerly ways is, I think, beneficial for me. I’m someone who’s not very comfortable revealing her innermost thoughts, and while you can see that I haven’t done much of that here, the fact that I’m letting little bits and pieces peek through is a good thing, as is the joy I find in, as I like to say, ‘crafting sentences.’
As I mentioned way back in my first post, I am a very private person, and so, to this point, I’ve maintained my anonymity. But since I’ve now posted a picture of myself, I thought it rather silly to not share my name as well. So, hi; I’m Wendy. Okay, readers: now your turn to introduce yourselves.
I’m not sure why, exactly, but I’ve been thinking lately that I would like to receive a letter. An honest-to-goodness, handwritten-on-actual-paper, letter. I guess I’ve just been in a nostalgic mood recently. Even my subconscious has gotten into the act– I had two separate dreams last week about people I haven’t seen since elementary school!
(No, I’m not talking about a TV show, for once. ;))
I was literally restless Thursday night into Friday– I absolutely could not sleep. I finally got a few hours’ worth in the late afternoon/early evening (I had this week off, luckily), but not only did my sleeplessness torpedo my plans for yesterday, it seems determined to continue to wreak havoc, as I am still awake, head a-pounding.
But that’s not what this post is about. Over the past few years, I’ve just had these periods of restlessness, of feeling that there was something I should be doing, something new I should be seeing. Maybe photography will prove to be the something.
(Hmm–I guess sleep-deprivation makes me let down my privacy shield a bit. :))
~What does the Super Bowl mean to me? That it’s almost time for spring training! (Although I do have to admit that I’m entertained by my neighbor’s intermittent cries of “It’s a miracle!” and the like. :D)
~So, ABC deems Wipeout Bowl 1: Cheerleaders vs. Couch Potatoes worthy of airtime, but not the last three episodes of Pushing Daisies?
~For some reason, I am unable to post a blogroll, so I’ll mention my new favorite website (mentalfloss.com) here. Trivia quizzes and fascinating facts? How did I not know about this before a couple of months ago?!
And with that, I am going to go eat vegetable lasagna.
Unlike many my age (29), I wasn’t for Obama from the start– I voted for Hillary in the primary. But I unhesitatingly voted for him in November, and when he won, I felt as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders, one I hadn’t even known was there.
As for my newly acquired weight (see my last post), I’m still filled with unease when I think about it. But whereas Monday and into yesterday it was the whole book, now it’s been reduced to a subplot.
I got some bad news yesterday. News that could impact my future, though that possibility has barely dented my consciousness. I can’t reconcile my new reality with the way I’ve always viewed myself, and attempting to is consuming my thoughts.
I’ve thought for a while now about getting into photography. I have an artistic streak that I rarely indulge, but whenever I do, I’m reminded of how much I enjoy creating something.
Now I just have to get a camera– you know, a non-high-tech one. ;)
The fact that these words are coming out of my fingers (well, not literally, though that would be kind of cool) and appearing before your eyes officially makes me not the least likely person to blog. Truth be told, this isn’t even my first attempt at blogging. (Gasp!) But I am a rather unlikely candidate for bloghood:
1) I am a very private person. (Sorry, no salacious revelations here. I am not a salacious kind of girl. :))
2) I kind of hate the word blog. (Don’t even get me started on ‘vlog.’ Shudder.)
3) I really question if anyone particularly cares that I love toast or that it smelled like Flintstones vitamins in the first floor hallway of my building last week. (Though I do, and it did.)
4) I got my first– and only– cell phone three years ago. I don’t I.M. You won’t find me on Facebook or MySpace, and I just don’t get Twitter. What I’m saying is, I’m not going to win the Miss High Tech pageant any time soon.
So why am I doing this? I guess the main reason is that, at heart, I’m a writer.