Doing the write thing....

So I have been thinking recently about taking a little blogging break. The problem is, every time I think about taking a break, something pops into my head that I have to write about.

I mean, I have to write about it.

When things don't make sense in my head--which is often--it usually starts to make a little more sense when I write it down. And when my head feels like it's going to explode from all those thoughts rolling around in there not making any sense, I can remember the funny parts of something and write them down, and my head doesn't feel like it's going to explode anymore.

And sometimes, I just have to write.

Maybe I have a form of OCD.  Too bad it didn't manifest itself in day long cleaning frenzies.

The thing is, I still have a lot of ambivalence about putting my writing out there for anyone to read. There's just something unsettling sometimes about knowing that anyone who wants to could be reading about my life, my kids, and well, me. Because, as we all know, not everyone in this world is as normal as you and I are.

On the other hand, the only thing more unsettling than the thought that anyone could be reading this is the thought that no one could be reading this. I mean, as much as I do this for myself, what's the point of putting this out there if I don't want anyone to read it?

Yes, this is exactly what I mean about my head feeling like it's going to explode from all those thoughts rolling around in there not making any sense.

But, once in a while, something happens that makes things just a little clearer.

Today was one of those days.

As I was thinking "Maybe I'll just take a break for a while", I received an email from an old friend about something she had read here. I don't see this friend nearly often enough. We are separated by miles, and responsibilities, and obligations. Phone calls are rare, and when they do happen, they are usually interrupted by a screaming child (usually mine) or a screaming mother (always me). And yet, we share a history. In what sometimes seems like another life, we shared an apartment, and twelve packs of cheap beer, and secrets. These days, we don't get to share much at all. But her e-mail reminded me that we still share something.

We share the experience of motherhood--and all of the joy, worries, and sadness that come with it.

That's also why I write. To share my experience of motherhood, and all that it entails.

Not everyone is going to relate to everything I write. Some days, maybe, people won't relate at all.

But most days, someone can relate to something.

And on those days, I resolve to keep writing.

Because there's nothing like knowing that somewhere, someone has the same thoughts rolling around their head as you do in yours.