Bad Apples

"I feel like I am on a roller coaster and I am the only one not screaming in fear or exhilaration. But I am surviving the ride." -me (said in a dream)

I had a plan. No more blogging. Simple plan right? I mean there's only one step to that plan. No. More. Blogging. The plan was working. I had put up my I-Am-Woman-watch-out-world post and I was pretty content with that being the end of the damewendy.com story. I ditched the internet and went off with my camera and sass in tow. My readers saw me dancing off into a hopeful future and I felt happy for that. I would vanish from the online world and eventually be forgotten.

I did need some sort of written outlet so I took to my moleskine journal and my penmanship, I have to say, has never been better. In my physical journal I suddenly had absolute freedom. I could say those things that I could never say here. And I did. I purged every thought, feeling, bafflement, late night cry session, every medical drama onto it's smooth pages, feeling better and worse. I sat in book stores, coffee shops, the roof deck, and my floor furiously writing in-between jobs. Then I re-read what I wrote and I cringed at how I was going to react to these words years from now because really - so pathetic and dramatic and sad, mixed with strength and pep talks, and joy. My emotions on the pages yo-yoed so much I made myself sea sick. I said it all alright, and it became more about saying than what I was actually feeling. I would start an entry about my morning coffee and a lovely walk and all of a sudden it became how lonely and lost in this world a poor soul is. Blech. Not reality. Stick with the awesome coffee I have perfected and how perfect NYC is in the morning will ya?

It got me thinking. It's the thinking that will always get ya. I really enjoy blogging. For many reasons, some of which embarrass me. They make me feel like I'm one of those look-at-me people. Maybe I am one of those people but had too much pride to admit it. Whatever. I like it. So lookatme! Heh. I say the things I want to say. I like getting comments (that's one of the things that embarrasses me), and I like getting better as a writer. One could argue that this is a terrible forum to get better at anything, but it's something I love. The things I love have great importance. More now than they ever did. I know that my punctuation, my sentence structure, my appalling made up words, all of it is lacking, but I do want to learn and get better. Be inspired. Share. So here I am back on my little space talking about things. There's so much to talk about. Like YOGA, struggling in this new life, a new love of beer, and a run in with a drunk texter.

Some of you noticed that my blog went through an aggressive edit and asked about it. I would have wondered too and I thank you for the emails and virtual hugs. I actually can not remember the last time I got a real life hug. The moleskine entry about that is a real sappy doosy (huh, how do you spell doosie? doosee? dousy? meh, I give up. curse you spell check!) you can practically see the words smeared with tears. I archived a slew of entries and comments, locking them up nice and safe for me to look at when I was ready but hidden from the public. The simple answer why is, it needed to happen. It did, and I'd tell you why but that's saved for the moleskine vault of words, and besides, I'm sure you can guess fairly accurately why. Pick a reason and you're not wrong. Unless you think it's because I was going into witness protection, or because I ate a bad apple.

(is it DOOZY? )