Life is puzzling, isn't it? I say this because jigsaw puzzles are my hot new thing and at the moment, the one I'm trying to tackle is a doozy.
Wait ... Who said that? Who am I?
Even as I write those words it seems forced and ridiculous, who has time for a fucking puzzle? And really? When did I turn seventy?
Seems like, the last few years have sprung some cozy new habits- and somehow writing has not become one of them. How did this happen? I was a girl who Carrie Bradshaw'd my days away in Hollywood, who wrote songs and poetry on a daily basis, who crooned her evenings away with her band and then penned three novels about all of it.
I even wrote for the local paper for awhile and that was fun I guess, but it didn't excite me either- writing about other people's accomplishments and/or problems. God I'm a self-centered bitch huh? Yep, it's true, and I've always been happier just focusing on my own deal. You do you right?
I could blame it on the pandemic, sure. Shit happened to all of us though and we all are dealing with it as best we can. But it did kinda start then, so yeah, I'm gonna blame it on dealing with a pandemic- makes me feel less guilty about enjoying a jigsaw puzzle. And I DID write a TV pilot script for my book series during that time, so don't forget about that. Yes! I did do some writing. Although I have yet to do anything with it ... hmmmmmm.
This open therapy on a laptop to no-one blogging is fabulous, isn't it? Hello- am I in there? Ok. Yes, I'm listening, go ahead.
Oh and yes, I am a momma to two lovely children who survived lockdown with only a few nervous ticks, but they can also sing just about every lyric to every 60's and 70's music catalog of greatest hits, and that fact alone makes me proud. My job is done, kids are raised.
But I never wanted to be- all about my kids. Please don't get me wrong- Yes, being a mommy is the best thing I've ever done and the love I get from those two rad humans, is what every mommy book has ever been written about. But I need more right now as a new year begins, another virus has taken over, and my morning pages of a brain dump, is not handling everything I want to accomplish artistically right now.
So the real question I have to ask myself is this: Did I just become too busy with normality or do I find myself boring and normal, with a life that is certainly cheery but ... nothing to write home about, either. Do I have to be exciting to write? Or does writing get me excited? I certainly do feel a bit aroused now.
Oh lord, I've gone crazy. Maybe this writing will kill me or actually help me, after all.
I'm thankful that this spurt of the word is over and I can get back to my puzzle. This puzzle is about doors. Doors from the City. Or City Doors ... Something like that. Maybe one will open for me. Show me the way back. Or maybe I will keep writing and find my way back to myself, all by myself.