Once upon a time, I used to be able to write.
Now, for whatever reason, I can’t.
In college, words would pour out of me.
Now, I feel like I am trying to pull my own teeth out of my head to get some words written down.
Yesterday was Sunday. We went to church. We came home. We had lunch. We took naps. We woke up. We played. We had dinner. Sam had a bath. Sam went to bed. Tim and I snuggled on the couch and watched Julie & Julia because it was at the redbox and it sounded moderately appealing.
It was okay. I think they tried too hard to work the romantic part into romantic comedy, but at least it wasn’t ridiculous in the standards the movie set up for love. That always bothers me about chick flicks — they are so completely unrealistic. Not in a suspend-your-disbelief kind of way, either. It’s portrayed as reality, but the thing is, it isn’t real at all. Anyone who has been married for any length of time will tell you that your significant other does not and cannot complete you, and it’s not all rainbows and puppies and lollypops. Peter warned against those sorts of expectations when he said, “Put your hope in God.” Because men, even godly, kind men, will fail you if you try to make them your everything.
Anyway. The movie. Like I said, it was okay. It portrayed lots of food which I would like to eat.
The story revolves around the blog of this woman, Julie. And I started to think: maybe my blog isn’t focused enough. Maybe I need a plan, a deadline, to write about. But the problem is…I don’t know what I am good at. I used to think I was sort of a good writer, but now, well, even that isn’t true anymore. What could I blog about? I need a niche. I’m not particularly good at this whole wife/mom/homemaker thing, even though that’s my life and what God has called me to do. So I don’t really think that writing about how I keep my house organized or how I manage my home or how I feed my family home-cooked meals every night will work for me because I am not organized, my house is barely “managed,” and we eat at Chick-Fil-A more than I’d like to admit. (I do cook quite a bit, too, but we eat mostly variations on a theme of beans, rice, a vegetable, and maybe some meat. Reasonably healthy, yes, but exciting, not so much).
A question the movie asked of Julie and Julia Child was what do you like to do? The answer was cooking, and for Julie, writing. I like writing. I like cooking. I like my friends. I like my family. I like thinking about things. I like reading books and blogs. I don’t like brussel sprouts, or Pop-tarts, or my teeth, or my face. I am not crafty, although I admire craftiness. I like my husband. I don’t like housework, except for cleaning bathrooms. I like Chick-Fil-A more than I’d care to admit. I hate filling up my car with gasoline. I like walking. I don’t like being sweaty. I don’t like being cold. I don’t like being hungry. I love sleep. I enjoyed being pregnant and miss that feeling of a baby kicking. I like breastfeeding. I am passionate about gospel community. I like hymns. I wish I could paint, or draw, or something, and I think maybe if I had gone to a school with an actual arts program perhaps I could have nurtured that a bit. I love to sing, but can’t, at least not very well. I wish I could read music. I wish I could play the piano. I wish I ran marathons. I miss spinning classes. I like decorating my home. I like garage sales. I don’t like Wal-Mart. I am shy and awkward. I hate small talk. I don’t understand social rules, and social engagements exhaust me. I probably have Asperger’s. I am not kidding. I like the sound of trains at night. I like my husband’s eyes. I hate my hair. I detest the weird puckery skin on my belly. I love the result of the weird, puckery skin on my belly, which is my son, Sam. I want more kids. I am terrfied of having more kids. I am more worried about having a natural birth the second time around because I remember the first time and well, it was hard work and I’m not really crazy about going through that again. I don’t really care for salad, and that’s why I will never be skinny. I think Arrested Development is the greatest show ever written. I have body dysmorphia, but in the opposite way you’d expect: rather than imagining myself to look way heavier or uglier than I actually am, I think I am skinnier and prettier than I actually am, which makes seeing photographs of myself an unpleasant experience. Is that really what I look like?! In my head I am tall and willowy. In real life, I am rather dumpy and weird-looking. I am not quite okay with that. I’m working on it. I prefer being behind the camera. I don’t take good pictures. I will always probably be lonelier than I’d like to be. I am angry more than I’d like to be. I am not funny. I take life too seriously. I talk with my hands. I don’t like my head touched. I don’t like things on my neck. I don’t like shoes, but I hate having cold feet. I pretty much hate being cold. I want to play the hammered dulcimer, and the piano. I want to take ballet lessons. I used to be an editor. I used to tutor college students in writing. I am lazy. I am selfish. I think I am smarter than I actually am. Everyone eventually gets tired of my antics and leaves. It’s only a matter of time. I became a Christian in May of 2004. I went to a Christian high school. I loved Ball State. I loved being an English major. I love tornadoes less now that I am a mom. Now, they scare me. I am convinced the the guest room at my parents house is either haunted or possessed. I am secretly afraid that lightning will strike my house and catch it on fire. I get along better with men than with women, which has made married life interesting. Girls hate me. I don’t like little kids. I like my own kid. I used to want to be a missionary. I owe a lot to John Piper. I don’t know how to work the TV remote because I don’t watch very much TV unless Tim is already watching the TV and holding the remote. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t gone to college. I’m not using my degree, and all I have to show for college is student loans, which I hate. I cant stand the smell of raw chicken.
None of these things would make a good blog, however.