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A friend emailed me to talk about blogging. She had also recently started a blog, and wanted to share the things she’d learned, which was great. She said she’d been following mine to the extent that she could, but hadn’t caught up, or something along those lines, “because [I am] a blogging madwoman.” Well, yes. Mad period, probably. As the friend who suggested I start a blog mentioned, I have a lot to say. So it would appear. It also seems like I can’t stop saying it. I literally would be doing this all day, if I could. I can’t, as it happens, which is probably a good thing for me and everyone else. It’s complicated.

As anyone who has been following this even semi-regularly knows, my life is stressful. Crazy stressful. Stop the world I want to get off stressful. So pouring out my heart and the seemingly endless contents of my head here is beyond helpful. It’s a bit of grace. It’s fun to get up in the morning and look at the blog and its views and see if my numbers are going up (they are! daily!) and find out if people from exotic places are reading (yes! sometimes!). It’s a whole lot more fun than thinking about debt and job crap and collection agencies, who are so persistent that Chris gets up, turns on the phone and shoves it deep inside our chair and a half so it won’t wake anyone else up. Yes, that’s what it’s come to. Scary, huh?

But this is also so much more than just an escape. As I wrote to my friend, this is IT for me. I feel it, resonating inside of me with the same sense of truth some people experience in church. When I wrote that, to her, I actually started to cry. I should have known, I guess. I always knew I wanted to write. But I had given up, and this has given me permission to just go with it and write, damn it. Because it’s what I am supposed to be doing. Truly. Whether or not I ever get paid for it. I have no idea how something so evident can feel so revelatory. All I needed was a starting place. Ha. Toad lyrics again, go figure.

My friend also said she felt like she was experiencing whatever I was writing about along with me. Seriously, one of the best compliments ever. Again, to people taking the time to trudge through all of this, or even some of it… I know it’s a lot. But those views mean something to me, and it’s not just ego feeding. It’s validation that I am supposed to be here, doing this. Writing. Supposed to be. Thank you.

Okay, I am wrapping this up before I start crying again. Avery is about to be let out of the bath, and blogging with toddler works about as well as you might imagine.