Caterwauling

From the ever-eloquent Amalah: “You know it’s been a good playdate when nobody is wearing pants by the end.”

The same applies to adult play dates as well, my friend. 😉

Losing the will to blog is, to me, the equivalent of someone else losing the will to live.

I mean, I’m never short on things to talk about. If I had the time, I’d blog 20 times a day. I revel in my weird little thoughts. I even like to talk about nothing in particular at all. Shit, I EXCEL at prattling at length about the irrelevant things in life!

I have had SO many good stories to share — hell, I’ve even gone so far as to write the blog entries in my head. But then? I fire up the computer, log in to my little widget, and go “Enh.”

And lose the story forever.

Like a handful of my other online friends, lately I’ve come to a point where I want to say “enough.” As in, everybody gets a timeout if the clown acts out in class — one turd in a punch bowl threatens to ruin the party. You don’t get the best of me anymore. You just can’t. I could be channeling my energies elsewhere: developing a new hobby, nurturing some friendships — vegging out and keeping my thoughts to myself. Writing a damn novel already!

I don’t know. If this blog closes up shop, I assure you it’s because I wanted to do it and not because anyone made me. But the one thing I do like is that if I don’t make an update, the genuine people in my circle (and all of you know who you are, because there are amazingly and thankfully plenty of you) actually worry and wonder and inquire what happened to me.

And in that, I appreciate the safety and warmth of a caring circle of friends, because I too notice when they’re not showing up in my newsreader. I might not be thoughtful enough to ask, but I do care and miss them and will welcome them back with open arms when I see them resurface.

To anyone who blogs in my circle, I’m one of your biggest fans. You share your heart every day with me. You enlighten me to things I might never experience. You broaden my worldview and my understanding of things that will help me to become a better person. And if I can manage to do the same, in some small way? Takes my breath away.

So maybe we’ve moving into Caterwauling 3.0, the first version being hidden and the second stab at it being where my heart was on my sleeve. I don’t know what’s coming for this newest iteration, but I do know that the exits are always open and you’re encouraged to walk through them. (And for some in particular, the escort service of my foot is also available.)

In the meantime, I might be tapping out Morse code from my squatting position in the rabbit hole, but I’m having a lot of experiences that I love capturing for myself and maybe even sharing — if I can stop typing in tongues and start sharing in plain English again. But maybe now is my time to just live ’em and I can write the memoirs later. I don’t know. I just hope that they’ll be worth reading!