Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Journal 41 Transfiguration

...through blogland? Sometimes this type of browsing (blogher, bloglovin'n or simply hitting 'next blog') yields great results for me. I feel inspired, unique, and ready to write again.

Today, I marvelled over the constant repetitive content, the round-about-writing. I summarize the themes and some of the exact wording I read as I just scrolled through:

"Our life has grown so much, and I love every second, every minute of being with my family"
-actual Mom blog
"My purpose is to serve this time on earth and make every moment count"
-really? REALLY?
"I made the best decision of my life"
-you're THIRTY give it some time
"What I wore"
-ok, these ones really bother me. one. who dresses like that unless you work for a label/designer/magazine. And two, I classify times in my life that stand out by how I feel ; not how many bucks worth of fabric I had hanging off me.
"I love being a mom, and I love my children more every day".
-yea, we get it, you're a throwback. I'm not saying this is true or it is not; but it's out there--do you, ms mathematician, get to do any other meaningful work other than long division when helping with homework? Not saying this is not important work--but you threw it out there that you are a mathematician staying home with your kids. And that smile didn't reach your eyes.

People's blog photos of themselves in general.
Are those head shots?

And make no mistake--I go to church every week. But the Christian blogs, the Mormon ones, the missionary stuff, the bible-quoting and the clean-living (uh huh...). Let me declare it now--I have a deep mistrust of very religious people, especially quoting scriptures to support their..opinions.
Sooner or later in life a very bad hand could be dealt to us. Sometimes God's hands are not that easy to live with. That's all I'm going to say about it.

And when I go browsing I have to hear about it. Let me just say now, there is no judgment on my end on happy mums, clotheshorses, and people who can't spell yet throw a sentence together like they would throw a scarf around their necks, but come on. That's not INTERESTING reading. All the lead characters in every novel I've ever read do not come with that side order of happy. They came with a black cloud inching along above their head, and it was what they did to deal with that black cloud that made them that interesting protagonist, drawing me in, gaining my trust, my empathy, my love.

I thought that during my run today. I'd gotten an inspiring email today from a friend whose opinion means alot to me, and I felt good reading her reads on how she feels about reading my blog. I trust what she says, she's had a lot of life experiences and she has turned that into a spiritual type of currency, for lack of a better word, and she is very generous with this currency. We are both readers, and I know that the blogs I've browsed lately (looking for 'good stuff', the stuff I listed in my List of Top Ten blog/websites, which feeds me in ways that books do) have fed me. The more simplistic writers and the more upbeat outlooks leave me shaking my head that this is a blog on "blogher" or has a large number of readers. Read one earlier in the evening that advised against putting up a post til one had had a chance to really review and it and make sure that was what they wanted to say. Umm, it's a BLOG. Not your autobiography.

But enough with the negative, the shady grove I've been inhabiting for weeks (months).
I summed it up in an earlier post--up, and down, up, and down. Down again. Then up.
Then I do the right thing, see a friend, take the weight off my chest. Then I go on that insanely long run, the one I'm pretty sure I can't do, and I do it, and I want more.
Then I clean my oven, and the kitchen floor, and I'm in the physical world, outside my own head, scrubbing oven grime off of the oven door. Then I listen to my "Mike" playlist on my ipod, made last September, which feels like it was five minutes ago, and I drift back to my Maine vacation. I and look ahead to my next visit, also in September.
I look around the walls of my home, needing so much attention, attention I haven't given while I've been sitting on the couch since March, book in hand, vacant stare, glass of wine close by.

I am working on becoming that butterfly.

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