The B is Back

I’ve abstained from blogging for a very long time.

A year and a half, to be exact.

Not for a lack of anything to say – ask my husband, I have not stopped talking. It was more like no one wanting to hear it. Not personally. Nationally. It’s hard to knock celebrity award shows when the Hollywood Advent Pervert Calendar is a living, breathing thing. It’s hard to blog when anything longer than two paragraphs is now considered a “long form” article because Twitter has condensed all of our thoughts into a character count. I’m not a mommy blog. I’m not a political activist, armchair sports analysist, or anyone particular with anything in particular to say. And after the last two years of politics, first the endless election cycle then living through year one of the Mad King, snarking about pop culture seemed as useful as dancing about architecture. 

Who cares what I think about a fictional female Doctor when actual health care is being turned on its head? Who cares about what books I read while the constitution is trod upon? How many posts did I think about, even write about, only to toss when something of actual value happened in the world? Reading the room meant realizing that the Internet had gone mean and rabid. The meek we had always hoped would inherit the earth turned into trolls who tried to destroy it. Being a woman with an opinion meant opening myself to being called words that even Carlin didn’t use on television. Was it worth it? Was posting something dumb and goofy that maybe 10 people would read on a good day a valuable use of my ever-diminishing “free time”? Was I just shouting into a hurricane, throat hoarse, unable to be heard?

Dunno.

However, what I do know is that I missed it. A lot. 

I am a much better writer than speaker. When I talk, I tend toward aphasia. I will stop mid-sentence, while the word I was about to say pops like a bubble out of existence. I try to remember the word and I have to get the shape of it, the sound of it, even the length of it correct before it will pop back into the sentence where it belongs. I say “um” and “ah” a lot. My vocabulary is limited. But when I write – well, the words flow much faster and have more meaning. I’m not saying I’m Shakespeare, but I’m not two monkeys banging on a keyboard either.

If you want to read what I have to say, that’s fantastic. If you don’t, I understand that too. It’s all good. I won’t take it personally. But I don’t just want to write it, I want to talk about it. I want comments, questions, I want a discussion. I want to remember what it felt like to talk about anything other than politics, climate change, and gross men doing gross things to women. I don't want to bring sexy back (and I'd really rather send Justin Timberlake away), but I want to remember what it feels like to write something on a regular basis that amuses, entertains, or interests people. Maybe I'll find an audience. Maybe a black hole symbolizing a complete lack of interest. Who knows? 

Let's find out together.