She may cleave me like a snowplow
Every few weeks or so, I feel a push to blog something substantial. I grab a few handfuls unarticulated heart-matter and try to carve-out something recognizable, because I need to feel like I have a handle my angst. I want to externalize it—make it into something I can drop-kick or karate chop.
As I sit up tonight trying to whip my blogs into shape, I’m struck with some waves of insecurity. I don’t post enough. I don’t SEO half of my posts. I don’t comment enough. The list goes on.
In fact, there are some moments when I really wonder how I manage to weave a career out of these loose strands. At times I feel like my job is just something I do between diapers, and while I feel fortunate to be at home with my kids, I know it’s not productive on any level to allow my business and personal life blur together rampantly.
My life has no structure right now. Zero. Nada. Maybe it will change when my kids are both in school during the day, but for now, it is what it is.
I made a few goals for 2014, and so far, I’m failing across the board. I resolved to get healthy. Fail. I resolved to start working on my novel, and for the most part, that’s a fail too, though, I’m still extremely focused on that particular dream.
I feel like it’s all I can do to trudge through what’s left of this craptastic winter, and I just hope that I can recover and revive a little when the sun finally comes back. It’s coming back, right?
Oh, and title lyric is from Mike Doughty.