I tend to want to come here and write more often than every four or five days, but I just can't seem to get here. When I'm busy with washing dishes, painting, knitting or pulling weeds in the garden, I compose wonderful blog posts in my head. Yet when I sit down at the computer, it's just crickets.
It's not as if I lead an exciting life, jetting off to here and there, or doing daring feats of amazement. I'm just little old me, spending a lot of time piddling around with this or that and trying to live each day as fully as I can.
Writing my blog has always been about writing for me, mostly. I've always looked at those who come and read my words as, well, a bonus really. That someone out there in the big, wide world would take a part of their day to read what I've written is a wonderful thing. I always feel I have such little to offer that I get a little giddy when I realize someone out there is reading.
Sometimes I feel I should be writing more for the lovely people who come here to visit with me and writing less for me. But then I get so worried. How is my grammar? Did I spell that correctly? Have I used this word too much? Can't I think of a better word than that?
It becomes an endless stream of anxiety and that is very, very bad.
So, I'll keep coming here when I can. I'll keep finding words to share, whether they matter or not. Sometimes, when I don't have words, I'll just post a photo. I guess the most important thing for me to remember is that I like being here. It makes me happy, and that is really the point.
thanks for stopping by,
love & blessings
ps...this is not the post I came here to write. it happens to me a lot, I'll start writing something and get carried off to another tangent completely. oh well, i guess it needed saying. :-) xo