Sometimes I wish my blog was completely anonymous, that I could really truly say what I wanted to without worry that my grandma or some gossiping frenemy is going to use what I say against me. Looking back at some of my posts, it’s probably hard to believe I sensor myself at all, but I do. Trust me.
The last year has been, in a word, hellacious. Stressful and uncertain and nerve-wracking. And did I mention stressful? I feel like I’ve aged 10 years in the last 10 months and I’m not blaming this
solely upon Nocturnal Baby this time. It’s given me a writer’s block of sorts and I hate it. I have been a journaler for as long as I can remember, but I’m finding it hard at this point in my life to get my feelings out. Or at least without all hell breaking loose. Ugh. I know I’m being really vague, but I promise it’ll all come spilling out in one big verbal diarrhea mess sometime soon.
Did that statement gross anybody else out as much as it did me? Gag. Really, that’s the best description I could come up with?? Totally proves my point about Writer’s Block.