In all honesty, I have been sitting, staring at this screen, wanting to let my creative juices flow, but somehow I just feel too tired. Too tired to write, too tired to think. But not really tired. You know?
When I write I want to have something to say. I want there to be substance, not a travelogue.
But some days are just boring. I mean, not to me, but who wants to know about our trip to Target for storage bins? Besides me, who would care that we finally got the kids room cleaned up after our sick week last week? Who would care about our lovely fire, or early bedtime?
And I am not meaning who else in the world, I mean, even when the kids are grown and they look back and read this, I don't think anything at all happened today that would be of interest to them, or me in the future, or our grand kids. Because today was a normal boring day.
I went to yoga and it was heaven. Absolute heaven. But really, nothing of consequence to report today.
I just worry that if I get flippant about writing again, then I will fall back into the habit of not posting at all. And I lost so many valuable memories by not blogging before.
And so, I write the most boring post ever known to bloggerdom.
You have my apologies.