I should welcome newcomers to this blog with an important caveat: I’m a very unlikely blogger. For a number of reasons.
First of all, underneath this hip and youthful appearance, I’m really a curmudgeonly old technophobe. Not a week goes by when my husband doesn't throw the accusation “luddite” my direction (Don’t worry, I had to look it up too) in response to a techno-induced tantrum failing to download (or is it upload?) anything. I was the last of any of my friends to own a cell phone, and my new “smartphone” is making me feel dumb. I still use a yahoo account. Tweeting baffles me. It’s a sex act, right? Pinterest is for sure a new yoga pose.
Plus, when you have a desk job that keeps you staring at a screen all day, screen-interfacing is hardly the first thing you want to do want to do in your off hours. Seriously, after washing children, clothes and dishes who has time to think up something pithy to say? The end of the day is for bad reality TV and wine (not that I’m indulging in either lately). It’s for consuming not producing.
Plus, let’s face it, if you’re not naturally the scrapbooking, camera-wielding, journal-keeping, all around moment-capturing type, (and you do know the type), posting pictures and personal musings can end up feeling like homework. And I figure 19 years of school is about enough.
Oh, and let’s throw in this: I’m also a horrible keeper-in-toucher. I’m a birthday forgetter and the last to know in a crisis. I literally forgot my own 3 year anniversary (my mom called to remind me). The last time I sent holiday cards/messages was during a spell of unemployment in the late 90s. Ask anyone I know. They’ll probably respond with “Kim who now?” So, if blogging is about keeping in touch or connecting with people who aren’t immediately in front of you, I’m fighting my nature here too.
But most importantly, if I start spending too much time on the computer, what will I nag Colin about? It’s kind of my “thing” to pester him about constantly reading his iphone or checking game scores on line while I’m doing the heavy lifting of tending to Caleb and the house. It’s my shtick. Where will I put such hard won righteous indignation? He’d miss it, right?
Then there’s always the risk that I’ll be overwhelmed by adoration from readers lauding my brilliance and my head will swell to balloon-like proportions and I’ll become insufferable (well, more insufferable) to friends and family.
Or that no one will read or comment other than immediate family unless they find something offensive or misspelled. Then my head will shrink to marble-sized proportions and I’ll give up the whole endeavor. My ego is really that delicate.
I guess I’ll just think of this as for myself and should it resonate with anyone outside of my immediate circle of friends and family, then so be it. It’s a journal, really, whose public nature prevents me from being too whiny or braggy and from committing totally egregious grammatical errors (though I’m assuming I’ll be forgiven for my frequent “creative” use of commas and other less egregious inevitable mistakes).
Even if no one else reads it or a lot of people read it and hate it, I’ll still have created something. Something of my own. Something which will endure – even if only in cyberspace. Something my children might read one day and know that mom thought about more than what to make for dinner. That alone will keep me writing.