So, lately, I've been experiencing a cessation of blogging. Today, however, in the interest of blogging, I blog. I have, again however, nothing to say. So, we'll just have a stream of consciousness, shall we?
This blogging cessation reminds me of the time I stopped writing in my journal. It's been, oh, ten or twelve years ago since I stopped. You know, I always believed all that stuff you heard at church about needing to write in a journal. One good thing about me is that I can follow rules and quidelines indefinitely until I no longer deem them worthy of my obedience, or until I can find a better, more efficent way of doing things. So once, when a couple sensitive entries were compromised, that was it for me; journaling was no longer a viable activity for me. I stopped and I never looked back.
Still, having trouble putting the idea aside totally, I found ways to journal, to keep a record of myself. At first, I got a tiny notebook which I kept in my backpack in which I wrote quotations and ideas that appealed to me in some way. I did not write down how they appealed to me, why, or on what level. Gradually, I began to record my own observations and ideas and eventually my feelings about them.
During this time, putting my feelings into poems was a safe way for me to express my feelings. I don't know why, because it's easy for me to see how others can think poetry is a bunch of cheesy bunk. As most of you know, most of what I write is in free verse. While I appreciate a good poem written in an established form, and also realize that it is not easy to get your idea to fit into an established form, I assert that this is because ideas and life do not come at us in established form. When we expect them to, we are disappointed. Anyway, I am never afraid to put my feelings into a poem, and poetry has always served me well this way.
Later, my journalling took the form of scrapbooking. When I scrapbook, I like the items I put in to have personal meaning. Sure, you can get a lot of cute stickers at the scrapbook store, but you can not get your child's hospital bracelet from the scrapbook store. See?
Most recently has come blogging. A nice, culturally relevant way to record thoughts, feelings, ideas, events, and so forth. I find it ironic that the title of my personal blog is Mamablogue, and yet I do not dedicate it to the antics of my children. A more approptiate title for that would be Kinderblogue, agreed? Instead, the Mamablogue, for me, is about the mama, not the kids.
So, having wondered all these years what it is that makes me continue to journal without a journal, I have to conclude it is my ulitmate love of myself. I mean, I may be chopped liver to you, but I think I'm the best there is. And I'm not talking about cataloging my strengths and weaknesses, the pros and cons of Misty. I love myself warts and all, and the proof is in the various types of self-preservation lying around my house.