Time to Release It

The summer I turned 14, I’d gone to Washington to babysit my cousin’s daughter for the summer.  That job kind of fell through and I decided to stay with my aunt, watching her children and wasting away the summer taking random evening trips with her to get iced tea from the Taco Bell a few miles away.  It really was nothing exciting, but my time with her was always so much fun.  Having a new boyfriend back home, I longed to go home, but stayed where I was until summer’s end.

One evening, bored out of my mind and missing home, I slipped out of the chaos of a house with small children and into the peace and quiet of the garage.   Behind a wall of boxes, I sat on the cold cement floor slumped against a shelf containing and vast collection of dusty Hotwheels.  My mind was buzzing with thoughts I wanted to shout out loud–how I wished I was home; how I never understood why I stayed; how much I loved my cousins, but disliked their endless energy; how f u l l my heart felt for this new found l o v e of mine.  I picked up a small notebook and pencil and began to scrawl across the pages for hours.  Releasing my excitements, my wants, my hopes, and life’s lessons I felt I’d learned by that age (which I’m sure was a lot less than I thought at the time.) When my hiding place was finally discovered, I jumped to my feet, crumpled my thoughts and tossed them in the trash, without thinking twice about it, on my way into the madness. My writing was more than a journal entry.  I was writing as though I was speaking to someone–anyone–who would listen.  A blog on paper.

Later that year, I covered the walls of my room in sheets of butcher paper.  I sketched large images of cartoon characters, song lyrics, and thoughts.  Writing on the wall was my favorite way to release my explosion of random thoughts and express myself in a time I felt completely alone and put away.  Throughout my adolescent years, I endured a lot that and it always felt so good to write it down as though someone was listening to me.

As a young single mother, trying to make it on my own, I spent a lot of time working and never spent a dime on things I felt were unnecessary at the time.  Internet and a cell phone were among these.  I missed the start of the blog revolution.  When I finally dove into the world of social networking, I never really felt I had the time to start a blog.  Wait.  I lie.  I was sour that the blog revolution started without me.  I was mad that it’s another one of those, “Why didn’t I think of that?” moments in life.  I started a family blog discussing my personal family goings-on for the rest of the family to see, but it wasn’t the same.  I’ve spent the past year debating a blog and talking myself out of it–I don’t have the time.  I don’t have anything good to say.  No one will find it and if they do, they won’t want to read it.

I’m finally telling myself to. . .well. . .get over myself.  I may not be the best writer, but I definitely have enough to say.  Blogging is a natural part of me.  I’m constantly sitting here telling myself to stop talking as I listen to the rambling one-sided conversation playing out in my head.  It’s time to release it . . . or find myself a spot in the loony bin.


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