I had a somewhat decent blog post planned for the opening of Lost in Wonderland, only to have it succumb to the perils of my computer.
It was clever, honest, and somewhat witty, so much so, I am not even going to attempt to recreate it. Any attempts would be fruitless and frankly subpar, so instead I shall give that nice piece of literature a moment of silence and continue on with a much less interesting, much less exciting first post.
effect to save-
It’s an odd situation to find yourself in when you feel as if you have too much and then nothing at all to say. I have spent the past several years of my life entertaining the notion that maybe one day it would all click and I wouldn’t sit here fruitlessly wondering when my lost muse would return.
The bitch never has.
Instead, I’m regulated to worrying that I may say too much or too little, be uninteresting and unimaginative, and find someway to make you, the reader, question what it is I am trying to accomplish.
Let me let you in on a little secret: I really don’t know.
Every year I resolve to be more open, more forthcoming, and more real with my blog posts, and every year I fail. I no longer know what it means to wear my heart on my sleeve, write without abandon and fear of judgement. Instead, I question every word I type, every sentence my fingers manage to spit out, while simultaneously pressing the delete key, thinking, “It’s not good enough.”
It never is.
I will make no promises this year about the things I will and will not do. I’ve found that I only end up disappointing myself and it is not fair to you, dear reader, to watch the continued tirade of a woman who’s not quite sure who she is or where she is going.
Do not mistake my present course in life as unhappiness. It isn’t. It’s where I think many people find themselves at some point in their life. I was just much slower getting here than most.
Let’s blame it on my parents, that usually works in most cases. Now more so, with the millennials’ introductions of microaggressions, triggering, and whatever other fodder they can get people to believe.
Now where was I again?
Oh right! It’s my parents’ fault.
Regardless of who’s fault it is, I am still here, in the present, trying to discover who I am and where I am going.
I can promise the ride will be bumpy and probably more unpleasant than your Aunt Eugene, BUT likely more interesting.
There will be pit stops, dark holes, and little bursts of sunshine. I might get turned around and find myself in places I’d never thought I’d be; whoa, whoa, whoa, not those places!
I’ll be bamboozled, terrified, and at times a little drunk… okay more of the time, a lot drunk. I cannot guarantee much but I can guarantee it’s likely to be one hell of a ride, so if you have nothing better to do, hop in the passenger seat and let’s see how far we can take this roller coaster I call my life.