Nine years of blogging, every day; nine trips around the sun. This is remarkable, or remarkably crazy; the line between the two is paper-thin. There were weeks this past year when I could write only one or two posts. It was almost never out of a lack of content ideas, but rather a lack of time. Then there’d be an outpouring, usually at 4 a.m., when my mind was swimming with the thoughts I wanted to write.
It’s rather like the pushmi-pullyu of Doctor Doolittle, described in Wikipedia as a “‘gazelle-unicorn cross’ which has two heads (one of each) at opposite ends of its body. When it tries to move, both heads try to go in opposite directions.” I just recalled that I had a little plastic pushmi-pullyu when I was in high school, for some obscure reason.
Sometimes I try to let the blogging go, but then the heart will want what it wants. I want/need to communicate, and I feel rather cranky when I have things I want to write but can’t seem to find the opportunity. So the subconscious wakes me in the middle of the night. Regular morning blogging is SO much better for my sleep patterns.
I’ll attempt one more year of daily blogging, and, as I noted last year, I’ll stop. I think I will. Maybe I’ll repost some things I wrote in my first year when no one was reading my blog anyway once or twice a week. Or not. We shall see. But stopping altogether is not an option, and in any case, that’s still 12 months away.
Oh, if you see a typo, feel free to mention it. There was a piece I wrote about the word tittynope last month. Even had a graphic of the word. And yet I typed tittymouse, undoubtedly affected by the word titmouse; fortunately, I caught it before it published. On the other hand, I might get all colloquial sometimes: “And I done so well in high school math” made sense to me, in the context.
Anyway, the obvious from the Beatles white album.
