I had these plans, you see. I wanted to take some time and have a regular stream of stuff written for this blog (for this month, especially), because in a little over a week, it turns five. Yes. An inanimate object, a bunch of words and photos and files I put together turns five years old March 30.
May not mean a lot to you, but for someone who doesn’t know who she is if she can’t write, that’s a big deal. That’s a commitment. That it has kept going – kept me going – and people have read and laughed and cried and loved along with me, well, that’s really important.
So to celebrate I wanted to have post after post ready to go, to tell you all sorts of things and show you some great pictures and keep up some of these features I do that have become a habit on here.
All of this may sound trivial, but it’s not, to me. I need to write. I need it like I need water or air. I need that creative outlet and that place to put down all of the thoughts and feelings and stories I have when I can’t – or don’t want to – say them out loud.
That said, these past two weeks have dealt two major blows in my life – last week, actually. This week, I’m still reeling. Letting things sink in.
There are things I want to write about – I need to write about. They’re serious things. Important things. But I’m not ready, yet. I can’t, yet. I want to keep distracting myself with other things, share my pictures from my recent trip to Boston and NYC, where my sisters and I collectively celebrated our birthdays and were able to be together after our hearts had been hurt so badly last week.
I can’t wait to tell you about those trips. I can’t wait to tell you about two very important parts of my life that I’ve had to deal with losing in the past week and am still just starting to process. I can’t wait to celebrate having kept this sort-of time capsule-y thing, this look into my mind and heart and life for the past five years.
Soon. Very soon.
On account of... 