I feel like I should plop down here and say how I’m going to pick back up writing again in 2016. Odds are high at this point that that would be a lie though. Writing was a lot easier when I had an editor to throw the proverbial ball for me. 750-800 words on minivans? No problem. 500 words about Cairn Terriers as pets? Have it to you tomorrow morning. I can write about whatever I want, as much or as little as I want? Uhm…excuse me…I have to click back over to FaceBook and send more poop emojis to my sister now.
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, I enjoyed hair and makeup, working out and eating clean, and was a 4.0 student. As the days tick off now, I get further and further away from that beautiful, confident woman. I miss her and want her back, but I feel very limited in what can feasibly do to try to get there again.
Maybe the point isn’t to go back though, but to blaze a new trail. Start a new chapter. Some cliche` shizz like that. Even if that feels dangerous. (Mostly because I’m pretty sure it gives my sister bragging rights and I can just picture her dancing around me and singing, “I was riiiiiiiii-hiiiiiiii-itttttttte!” on repeat…at least until she trips over one of her dogs.) I’m just…not quite sure where I want that path to be yet, I suppose.
That’s it…that’s all…I want to decide on that path and start carving it out. I want to not feel like I’ve been folded flat so many times, like a paper crane someone decided to make and then didn’t know what to do with when they were done, so they stuffed it between two heavy books, out of sight and out of mind. That’s a thing, right? To not feel that way? That’s my goal for this next year, so I damned sure hope so…