When I started writing a blog in 2004, I really thought that I was doing it to help myself understand myself.
I realized that I often don't know how I feel about something until I've heard myself go on and on about it. That seemed a perfectly good reason to write a blog.
Of course, I did want it to be read. I wanted my family to read it; I wanted my close friends to read it---it never occurred to me when I started that anyone who didn't already know me would read it. Quelle surprise! as we sometimes say up here in Canada. A couple of people in my family read it, a couple of my friends, and a bunch of people whom I cherish for ignoring the fact that they don't know me and went ahead and looked at the photos of my kids and grandkids, read my interminable lists, smirked at my Photohunter photos, held me up when I was down and told me things about themselves that unfortunately revealed that they're all as unaware of boundaries as I am.
All that to lead into my rationale for posting such uninspired and spotty stuff lately.
I've been retired for a while and had the opportunity to volunteer to work on something I really cared about. In the same way I can eat one potato chip and close the bag, can put a book down to do the dishes, can love more than one person at any given time, I thought I would be able to have some control when it came to how much of my time I would willingly give to that cause.
I'm just not in control. I want to be in control as you could guess from the way I'm going on about this, and I understand what I could do to have a better balance in my life. I think about what I'm not doing, I miss the great feeling I get from those things I'm not doing---I even know what advice I'd give anyone who told me this story. What I can't seem to do is to take my own good advice and get a grip.