I used to be pretty good at blogging about nothing. Lately I feel like there’s no reason to write here if I am not writing about something. I don’t want my blog to just sit around and gather dust (like everything else in my house…*cough*) but I have begun to feel sort of awkward writing about nothing.
Nothing isn’t interesting. Nothing isn’t worth writing about. It’s just words. Filler. Boring.
Right now life is pretty much consumed by our new dog. I never had issues with spamming my own blog with dog posts, but right now, I feel odd about it. Like, “Get a life, Cat. It’s a new dog, we get it. You don’t need to spam the world 24/7 about him!”.
And it’s not as though I am worried people out there are bothered by this. I am suddenly my own worst critic and telling MYSELF these things. Almost as if I am boring myself. Hmm.
I am frustrated because things that used to come so easy to me have been just out of reach in the last year and a half. Things in my brain changed a lot after the trauma. This is apparently normal. I may or may not get these parts of me back. But they are the creative parts and I am suffering with their loss. I am not reading (haven’t read one book yet this year), I hardly write on my blog, or my handwritten journals. I am not certain how I am passing the time sometimes. It just passes.
I am hoping that with the fixing up of one of our extra rooms upstairs into my craft room, completely with shiny new sewing machine! – will help things along this year. A place for me. To create. To book my books on shelves, in a brightly coloured room, with spaces for my fancy papers, stickers, colouring things.
Maybe I will try and put in a beanbag, or comfortable small chair for a reading nook. Maybe that will help me escape from the rest of the house and its distractions.
I’d like to feel a little more calm in my head before I start back up with school in May. I took this semester off because I just can’t focus enough.
And so my nothing post sort of evolved into anything and something.