I swore I’d write from the first one I pulled. I don’t usually write from a prompt, but I thought I’d try something new today. “Why do I blog?” Really? I don’t feel like it’s a very original one. And I’m already off to a yawnderful start. Hmm.
Off the top of my head, I don’t have a fucking clue why I blog. I honestly think I write for no good reason. I feel like I need to be prophetic and deep. *sigh* *pops a Mike’s Hard Lemonade* And the pressure, being called a “mommy blogger.” Oy. The responsibility. *eye roll*
This has nothing to do with anything. Except this is my view as I’m writing today. I’m the surf camp taxi for two today. The gig doesn’t suck.
Seriously people, my breeding skills are frankly nothing for the books. I never really saw the point in continuing to produce, once we had the car washing and yard work covered. I mean, why? With two kids, I’ve already got a damn fine excuse to drink. So why continue to play the odds? With further minion production, I could end up with a vagina that keeps my thighs from rubbing together when I walk. But I’ll quit while my lady business doesn’t whistle like the moaning caverns when I ride a bike. Not that I’d ever ride a bike without first covering those parts. I’m not Britney, for fuck’s sake. Have you seen those bike seats? Seriously, people. I’m pretty sure some girls who’ve birthed themselves an entire little league team could make one of those little tiny seats disappear. Yeh, gross… I know I’m insensitive. Don’t get all judgy. I’m just sayin.
So really, I ask myself, with my lack of flocks of children, how am I qualified to write a mommy blog? You don’t even have the benefit of knowing whether or not I’ve irreparably fucked up my kids, since they’re only 15 and 12. I could be raising serial killers. What do you know? Yet I’m a mommy blogger? *snort*
I’m sure at some point, most women who are labeled as mommy bloggers have rebelled against the tag. I’m not here to rebel. I’ve been called worse. But I am here to say I’m in no way an authority on this mommying thing. So perhaps, at most we’re able to have a laugh at my awesomeness at my ability to trip through life and not damage anything/one yet. Or have I? We just don’t know, do we?
And while I’m single-handedly flushing my own credibility, who’s to say who’s an authority? There’s no test to become a mommy. Hell, a lot of people fall into this gig because, let’s face it, latex is imperfect. Or they didn’t think about using birth control to begin with, because they just didn’t think they’d get pregnant this time. Well, I guess by comparison I’m either a veritable brain trust, or really super fucking stupid. I haven’t decided which yet. I’ll let you know when I see how my kids turn out. Either way, laughing for sure helps. And so does not taking myself seriously. Like ever. Which is fodder for my shrink and I. So, ya, there is that… moving on.
I’m the first to admit that I’ve fucked up. A lot. In all honesty, that’s why I’m here. I didn’t have the greatest start in this life game. It left me a
little lot damaged. Actually pretty fucking broken. So I started writing some shit a while ago—no seriously, it’s all shit. It was a string of complaining, mostly about people who have totally sucked in my life. But I realized that what I was doing was just trying to explain why I’m such a fucked up mess. It was my pile of I’m-being-a-dickweed-in-life hall passes. I felt the need to explain myself to the people around me. It’s depressing shit, in which it’s really quite impossible to find any humor. At all. My mind is a dark and scary place, people.
This isn’t a blame game. This is me admitting that I’m really really bad at coping. I’m constantly telling myself, “Suck it up, cupcake. Be present for everyone who loves you. They’re the ones who count.” Sometimes it works, other times I just finish the bottle.
So why do I blog even though I’m an unqualified, incapable mess? I was encouraged to do this as a way to bust my ass into writing every day. A way to prime the pump in order to start the daily mind barf. A way to get the words flowing for the real writing. I’ve got a handful of unfinished fiction pieces waiting in the wings. Blogging was supposed to help me get on the road to finishing them up. But blogging has become more than pump priming. It’s become my reason to look for humor in my life. Every. single. day. Because that’s how I have to deal with the darkness in my brain. I have to make it funny. And the stuff I can’t make funny… I refuse to think about. My blog seems to have shouldered its way through to become my real writing for now. Probably because that’s what my brain needs. So I feed the beast.
My mom would tell me not to dwell on the negative. That seemed like a fanfuckingtastic theory. But I somehow lacked the ability for implementation. I couldn’t find a way to always see the sunny side. Until I started blogging. This exercise has been a physical manifestation of what my mom has always told me to do. A tool, if you will. Except I say fuck more than she would like. But it has become my tool. My tool to find daily happiness and satisfaction. Kind of like a dildo. But for my brain. Writing is a brain dildo. Kids… tell that one to your teacher.
I’m going to pause for a moment and admire my ability to work dildo into a conversation about blogging. And I think I’ve salvaged a decent blog title from a shitty, boring prompt. *deep sigh* My work here is done.
I don’t know what’s supposed to motivate a mommy blogger. Or even what one is supposed to say. I can’t seem to find the rule book. The moniker cracks me up though. It’s like I’m supposed to be throwing out some awesome and useful info. Or reviewing some can’t-live-without baby shit. Er, eh, I mean stuff. Because reviewing baby shit would be pretty gross. You don’t review it. You just throw it out. Holy dang… maybe I do know something. Just throw that shit out. There. I’m helping… I’m a mommy blogger. You’re welcome.
This has nothing to do with anything either. Just thought you’d like another view for the road. It’s not all fabulous. It was really fucking cold this morning.
Ach… always off topic. I don’t have a freakin clue where I was going with this. Whatthefuckever. I don’t have a clue why I blog, or what I’m trying to accomplish. I started on whim and continue because it feels good, and it makes me happy. Kind of like my marriage… which has been working for 21 years. So holy shit, we could be here a while. Cuz apparently I’ve got some stick-to-itedness. My marriage has produced two amazing little people. Let’s hope at some point my dumbass rambling can result in something equally awesome. *pfffbaahahaha* Probably not. But for sure, let’s just laugh and not take ourselves too seriously. Mmmmmmkay?
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