I have been blogless for far, far too long. I want to write each and everyday, but I have a block. Not the typical writer's block from the movies where the author stares for hours at the typewriter all set to go holding a sheet of typing paper with the lonely words CHAPTER ONE at the top, and finally out of frustration the writer flings his heavy, old typewriter out the window into the front yard.
I can write. I vandalize the hell out of my journals. I mull over in my head clever posts about stupid shit I do or the stupid shit others say or do. I even sit and type them up once in a while...and then I delete it. My writer's block is best described as writer's delete to avoid writer's remorse. It sucks because I like writing and I know that people like reading my posts. I'm not sure what changed or why I'm afraid to publish what I'm thinking but it's become sort of a problem.
It's been manageable because I've really mastered micro-blogging using Instagram. Quickly share a photo and a thought. But recently I discovered (was told) what I'm missing - the realness. My Instagram posts seem very Kelle Hampton perfect. Although there are many parts of my life here at The Compound that are absolutely ideal; there is a whole unseen dysfunction that pretty much dominates my existence. Last night I took a look at my Instagram feed and decided to give you a deeper look at the perfection I portray:
Beer at the Lake House.
I enjoyed this beer at my friend Sarah's house one night because I had to get away from my husband's asinine questions about anything and everything. Trevor is a great provider and I love him with all my heart, but he's a 35 year old man child. Should I start the grill now? Do we have any band-aids? How do I restart the modem? Jesus Christ, man - figure it out!!!
Lafayette County Relay for Life.
This year my friend lost her 58 year old dad from cancer 2 days before this great event. The same event that for the last few years I've been blowing off for baseball games or weddings but mainly just because it was a pain in my ass. I'm an asshole!
Dog Hair and White Trim
This was the first time I scrubbed my master bath's floor in longer than I can remember. It was disgusting and gross and I should be ashamed.
A Beautiful Morning
This lovely view is a wide angle view of life here at The Compound. What you cannot see are the giant weeds growing in the bark that I don't have time to pull because I am sitting on my patio checking out social media from my phone. Which by the way is a permanent fixture in my hand. I hold my iPhone more than I hold my kids or husband's hands. To be completely real, there are days that I look more lovingly at my phone than my family. How's that for real?
I interviewed for job a couple of weeks ago. From the second I got home from the interview until last Wednesday I was totally consumed by whether or not I got the job. For days I obsessed by either double checking my phone or playing the interview over and over and over in my head. When I am stressed like that I eat. I wish I only ate beautiful things like Cracker Stackers, but I don't. I eat whatever I can get my hands on. Some people drink, some people cheat, some people gamble, I eat! The stress and emotional eating then leads to serious self-loathing which leads to even more stress and crazy, and more eating. Fun times huh?
(By the way, It's been 16 days and I've heard nothing about the job. I stopped stress eating about it when I started thinking about the possibility of working for a another company that doesn't follow through on what they tell people.)
For the person who wondered if my life is really as ideal as my Instagram feed lets on...you must have missed this one.