It’s been a while since I’ve blogged last, years actually. Too long without hitting the “publish” button. Almost two years of living in my own apartment. Another year of full time work. And everything in between. I know, it’s been a bit.
For a while I battled through the idea of how to professionally write a blog. In July, I will have worked in my current position for three years. I found there’s a fine line of what’s acceptable to post and what’s best left off the web. For example, in the beginning, all I wanted to blog about was the fact that I didn’t think I deserved my job, I wasn’t prepared for it, I couldn’t handle it, etc. I’m sure those words wouldn’t be comforting to my supervisor who might stumble upon pages that sometime read like a virtual diary.
After I got past that fight (with myself), I moved into a seemingly unexciting time. People would ask how life was and all my answers revolved around the ever-so fashionable greige cubicle walls, “work is busy” or “work’s been going well,” as if my 9 to 5 was all there was to my days.
And eventually I came to a time where my heart ached and I couldn’t figure out why. What was missing? It was writing. I grieved for the time I would sit on my bed or couch and hear my fingers type what my mouth couldn’t speak. The thoughts that jumbled too often in my mind used to slide easily onto the screen.
But in the that time, there were words, sentences, blogs in the making that wouldn’t let go. The ones I woke up thinking about, the ones I shut out for too long with excuse after excuse, those are the letters that stuck. And my brain couldn’t take the mess, I imagined words looping around themselves like a bowl of noodles with no end. It’s a hunt for the edges of my thought processes.
So here I am, back to my first true passion, trying to find the end of the noodles, or at least the pieces I can sink my teeth into.