talking with myself

Sometimes, I feel like I am writing to talk to myself. This blog is a diary of sorts. My way of memorializing where I am in my life. Occasionally, I'll go through my prior blog posts (I am trying to create a book from them, but after more than a decade of posts, on average 2-4 a month, it's harder than you think) and I wonder, how in the heck did I write all of these?

What I like about the blog format is the brevity. I've always been a concise writer. It can be a detriment at times, especially when an editor tells you they want more, more, more, but it's usually a benefit to be short and to the point.

My dream is to write full-time. Without the pressures of a demanding job that saps my energy, I wonder what I could accomplish. But then again, I might just spend my time watching Gilmore Girls or West Wing straight through for the upteenth time. 

I'm watching my dogs play. I wish I could in the moment like they are. I'm usually in my head, thinking of the future or the past. Yet, still, as I get older, and older meh, I am trying to be less preoccupied and worry filled. The amount of unhappiness my anxiety has caused me would fill a dumpster, and I'm trying to get rid of all that. Mainly because it's impacted my life domains so much that I just need a change, and I want to be free of it.

I guess that's all I have to say. Time for another espresso and then I got to go get ready for work. Put on my dress and jacket (but even when I have to wear a suit, my new ankle bolt tattoo will remind me of who I am at my core) and face the day.