When I began this blog, I started it with the intent of it being a simple hobby. I enjoyed being able to write about silly things that I fancied, whether they had depth to them or not.
Somewhere along the way, I started to feel overly self-critical; wishing I could post more frequently, have better quality photos, have something more meaningful to write about without divulging too much of my own personal feelings. I began to view this "hobby" as a shallow representation of myself as a human being. I even wrote a lengthy bit regarding why I wanted to write about seemingly-surface topics as a way to vent my growing self-doubt and move on. By writing that explanation I felt somewhat better, less pressured.
Then I was hit by the heaviest and most heart-shattering blows in my adult life: my grandmother, whom I was very close and attached to, died after a two year battle with cancer. I had never felt so much pain and so much emptiness in all my twenty-eight years of life. Not just because she had died, but because I saw her life slowly being eroded away from the strong, mountain-like person she was until there was nothing left but dust. My grandmother went from being the happiest, busiest woman I'd known, to not being able to walk or get out of the bed unassisted, and finally without any laugh or smile or breath. I was devastated, and felt like a hallow-husk of a person.
It's been a little more than a year since my grandmother passed, and while I have picked up the shards of my heart and have continued on with my life, there is still a gaping, painful hole within that just can't be filled.
Life still continued on. I started working full-time. I thought that it would be an easy transition, and that I would still be able to do as much as I had done when working part-time. I thought I could handle the extra weight.
The truth is, I feel like I'm drowning.
I struggle to maintain the needed physical, mental, and emotional energy to complete all that I need to do each day, and still find time to do that which I would like to do. I probably sound like a big baby, but I really don't know how people work full-time and still have enough time and energy to devote to their family, especially children. It's mind blowing. I feel like I should be living my life, rather than working to live. I know most people feel that way, and that expression is cliche, but there is a truth to it that I better understand now.
The point of all of wordy-emotional-nonsense is this: I can't blog on a consistent basis, and I won't be able to for an undetermined time.
I truly appreciate that so many people have still been viewing/reading the sporadic posts that I'm able to publish now-and-then, but I don't want to pretend this blog is more than it is. It's a hobby, and I refuse to allow a hobby cause unneeded, additional stress in my life. I strongly felt that I needed to put this "explanation" out there so that I no longer feel unnecessary guilt about my inconsistency in posting on this blog. I'm aware that most people will not care, or even notice, that this has been a problem here, however I feel a great sense of relief just from having written all these feelings and thoughts down. So I'm publishing this piece for me, to remind myself why I started doing this blog and what purpose it serves in my life at this time.
If you read through this ridiculous rant, thank you. I appreciate that you even took the time to visit my silly little blog and to "listen" to my venting. That's enough emotional diarrhea for now, I believe.
Thank you again and till next time.
Love, Little Mouse
I'm sorry you're aching. One day you'll realize that a whole half of a day has gone by and you didn't think of her with a stabbing pain from the anguish of absence. Hopefully, even sooner than that, you'll be able to hug her again. She passed the torch to you and your Mom; in a manner of speaking. Now you get to share parts of her, who she was, the way she thought, felt and things she'd say that have touched your life and heart- with people you meet. Who she is is downloaded into you. Her memories, the way she loved and cared for people and animals, how she carried herself- her generosity- the kind of wife, mother, cook, and grandmother she was- her friendship...You have the opportunity to adopt those parts of her that you admire and love, while cultivating them inside of yourself, with your own spin- your own art. It hurts. The middle hurts. But not forever. It's called the middle because there will be an end. Thank you for sharing this, while you're in it.
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