...I had things to say. People read what I had to say. I read other people's things that they had to say. It was such a nice cushy blog-existence.
But now it's barren.
I ache to write. I formulate topics and phrases in my mind all the time. I think of funny thoughts and wonder how I can translate the humor into written words.
But I don't write them down.
I still care so strongly for the friends I made. When I consider them, my heart warms and I can't help but smile. I hope they are doing well, and I tell myself that I need to read their blogs.
But I don't read, and they don't read either.
Nothing I think of seems important. Nothing seems funny. No one really wants to hear about my mundane life of work and kids. I've become a very private person, somewhat against my nature, and so it's easy to excuse not writing.
And I don't write.
Even if I write something witty right now, it won't be read. I had started a second blog last year so that I could anonymously be more personal (ironic, I realize). This "self-discovery" blog has become every bit as barren and desolate as that second one.
*chirp, chirp* the crickets break the silence.
*whooosh* the desert breeze blows sagebrush across my blog.
I need more optimism.