The other day I had to fill out one of those "all about me" forms. One of the questions was about my hobbies; I have so many, and the line was so short, so I thought I would just list 3. But which 3? So I asked Clay, and he immediately said, "Knitting, reading and blogging". Really?
I guess he is right; I really do love blogging, when I take the time to sit down and do it. I'm just not consistent, just like every other aspect of my life.
I rarely do anything the same way twice, as you could tell if you had ever eaten my meatloaf.
I don't have a set schedule for cleaning the house or doing laundry.
I start out gangbusters with new plants, but then after a couple of weeks, forget to keep them watered.
I don't feed the cats at the same time every day, and sometimes forget until they let me know they are hungry. (I guess subconsciously, I love it when Lucky bumps her little head against my leg. "Come on, human. Feed me already.")
I don't even get up in the morning the same way every day. Some days, I'm up and at 'em, in the shower and off before 8. Sometimes I brush my teeth after I shower, sometimes before. Exfoliation, leg shaving and pumice scrubbing are on a hit-or-miss basis. Today I am typing this at 8:45 in my flannel nightgown with dirty teeth, and although I have a million and one things to do, I'm in no hurry to do them.
And why can't I be consistent in exercise, when I know the outcome will be better health, more energy and a smaller butt?
My friend Pam H says that creative people aren't supposed to be boxed in, and that their messy, disorganized, inconsistent lives are part of their charm and life process. She is sweet.
So really, how could I have expected myself to blog every day? Or every week for that matter? Why did I think it would be a great idea to post a recipe every week? (yes, you're right; I did it once.)
But I really love those blogging friends who put new stuff up all the time. Works in progress, new yarn acquisitions, book reviews. A special post when they reach a milestone. I want to be like them when I grow up.
And I worry about those who haven't posted forever. Are they OK? I choose to think the fabulous lives of absent bloggers are so packed with fun and fulfillment that they don't have time to blog. Or maybe they're using their blogging time to knit, which, for me, is what started this blogging thing in the first place.