I should have known. I know what I’m like.
This blog, the blog I insisted was not for me, has me and won’t let go. Each time I walk past my desk it calls out to me. I check 50 times a day to see if anyone has happened upon (out of the 2, 010,030 possible google hits) my silly dawdlings. Or I mess with the layout, the colors, or the wording of my profile. And I plan to polish up my rusty photoshop skills to make an artistic banner for myself. And photos? Oh, the possibilities.
I don’t have time for this! I am in danger of neglecting my other responsibilities. I have two incredibly – to put it nicely – active children whose wills do not match each others’ ways, one hard-working-comes-home-starving husband, and an old house that is in perpetual danger of crumbling into the sea of strewn toys and piled high laundry baskets.
And what about the very reason I began this blog – my writing? OK, yes, I’m getting valuable daily practice, but no publishing gonna be happening just because I have a pretty blog page.
No, I must organise, prioritize, departmentalize. If I’m going to be charged with neglect it would be better to have an under-nourished and under-dressed blog than children fighting over whose dust bunny collection is largest.
Then again, my blog doesn’t back talk, produces no dirty laundry, and goes to bed the moment I ask it. Hmmm…