Sorry, Blorry

I’m going to have to be a little more creative in my posting these days. I’ve been writing a lot because I started to use my morning time (where I used to journal in my moleskin journal and read a few pages in a book I’m trudging through) to blog instead. It’s working brilliantly for creating more blog content and helping my peace of mine but the problem is: it’s PUBLIC! Doh. One-big-eye-one-squinty-eye-tongue-out emoji here.

Of course I knew that but I took comfort in the thought that this blog had sort of fallen by the wayside AND I have been writing so much that most of the world doesn’t read that much. You know, we are all just scrollers these days thumbing through countless articles on our phones, skimming just the bare minimum until we get to the nugget of information we are looking for. In fact, I know Payam doesn’t read this blog for that exact reason! Ha! I actually like it that way.

But I forgot about my parents. My mom is so sweet, she reads everything I write. I love her so much. And my last post kind of made her sad and she shared it with my dad. She read it to him while he was knitting a pair of slippers. He has an etsy shop. Yes, my dad is that cool. So you can imagine how my last post hit my parents ears, who tried so hard to give me the best groundwork for a good life that they could.

I think they did an excellent job. They think they’ve failed me. It breaks my heart.

The thing is I love to write. My favorite kind of writing is descriptive writing and specifically writing about things I know. I know I should delve into fiction but it gets sketchy for me because I don’t have the organizational mind at keeping facts straight. I’ve always been a terrible liar. Writing fiction is like work. Whereas writing about a memory just flows out naturally without even thinking.

I’ve often thought I would write a hilarious book about my life and my family and the way I was raised in a conservative religious upbringing but I would have to be like Mark Twain and wait 100 years for it to be published so that those super juicy chapters wouldn’t hurt anyone.

I just want to say that I’m sorry these last few posts have been so navel-gazing. It’s self-therapy sort of. I’ll take the more personal stuff back to my moleskin. I want to keep writing though. It does make me feel good.

Also, today is tax day. Blarg. Send out your payments and/or extensions folks!

48 Sucks

48-sucks-2
I was having such a tough time of it, I didn’t blog about turning 48. It’s a doozy turning this age. I think really, it’s more that it’s not so fun having a birthday in 2020 and probably everyone is going to have to do it. Some of us do it more gracefully than others and I have to hang my head in shame because I didn’t do it so gracefully at all. I was sad.

hairy big deal

Thankfully, I am shacked up with the most lovely human ever and he baked me a cake. A pink lemonade cake that I described in detail and he pulled it off perfectly. Of course that was the day I also decided to get off Facebook where I should have been bragging about him. I hate to brag obnoxiously though. But I do want to give him a shout out because baking a cake for a sad girlfriend on a really hot summer day is an act of heroism. Thank you, Mr. Hero.