I told John last night that I was thinking of deleting that last post because I wrote it when I was tired and it came out all sloppy and wonky and it wasn’t well written. Truthfully? I thought about deleting it because I imagined one of those people who thinks, just on general principle, that "Mommybloggers" shouldn’t be blogging, reading it and thinking, "See? This is the thing I’m talking about!"
For some reason, defending the genre of personal blogging has left me
feeling sorta like the personal stories I tell should have more weight
or importance. And, I totally do not believe that, because that kind
of life makes me tired just thinking about it. I don’t know. I’ve not
been able to come up with much of anything to write recently and partly
it’s because I was imagining this imaginary person on the other end
filing me away under boring and useless.
Eh. Fuck that. I know I don’t care. If I want to write a lame
entry about taking my kids to the beach, so what? And if the photos
are not great and not where I want them to be, that’s okay. If it has
to have some deeper meaning, I could say that it’s all a reflection of
my imperfect, often rushed, always tired life. But, really it isn’t so
deep as all that.