Lately I've been thinking.....about this space and writing here.....
I always thought I would be good at writing on a blog, because I love to write and I've kept a journal since I was ten years old. But something about the public nature of it makes me cringe. And it really doesn't help that I've spent the past two years stumbling through my days like a brain-dead robot.
Sometimes when I'm lying down nursing Clothilde I will think of what I want to write here, but by the time I sit down in front of the screen and my Internet connection is actually working the words fly away like crows into the sunset. If I do remember what seemed so natural and clever to say, it never looks as good written down in print for some reason.
I feel like I haven't ever decided what to write about. Do my pictures of snakes and bugs drive squeamish people away that would otherwise like to read?
And yet I find the "everything's beautiful and inspiring" blogs boring. And there's so much to filter out. And on the other side of that - writing too much about annoying daily life inspires contempt.
Such as...do I mention how "fun" it was last Sunday when Ethan forgot to get gas in the truck and we had to walk a mile to the farm carrying the milking basket and water jars? Stumbling around in the dark alone, trying not to be trampled by Matilda, hoping, waiting for Ethan to return with our re-fueled vehicle? How thankful we were to have a gas container in the barn for the rototiller with about 2 gallons in it? In other words, how much misfortune/ineptitude is okay to admit to?