A year ago my friends would have told me I had too many blogs. In fact, I had a small problem with creating blogs. Every couple of weeks I would come up with the best new idea ever for a blog and I would create a page, leaving it doomed to sit with one post for all eternity. Still, I was convinced that this was an important and worthy idea that simply became abandoned for the beast that is suggestivetongue.
I kept creating new blogs because I felt like I couldn’t do all of my writing here. To be true, I can’t, and I don’t. If I posted all of the things I wrote about, this blog would be a mammoth, character profiles, stream of consciousness, advice and sex talk, too-much-information personal stories, long drawn out theories about my experiences and my friendships, reflections on television and film, a book club, a coffee drinkers almanac, a drunken blur of beer recommendations, and a place where I posted photos of scones before I devoured them in a buttery whirlwind.
I feel like I am so many different parts of myself. Here we have compartmentalized just a few facets of that person. A little bit of sexuality. Some love, relationships, the littlest bit of health and psychology. But I am exploding outwards with everything else I have to say. Why do the number of Jeeps that play loud rap music increase tenfold when its sunny out? And, on that note, where does a Jeep go in the winter? What about baby strollers? Are there off road snow-tires for the baby stroller? Why don’t I ever see babies in the winter? Have I just not been looking? What makes a pizza crust so perfectly crunchy and soft on the inside? Could I have an experimental bake-off? When will fall hit? The leaves dropping all at once like, me, exhausted, throwing my sweater on the floor.
Today it was so hot I curled up to take a nap and the sun reached through the window with its barbs and sucked my moisture right out. I woke up dizzy and confused and disassociated wondering just what nutrients my body was lacking to maintain its composure. What would help me now? I am a sponge and if I get a little wet by god, I might just absorb everything around me.
Not quite so absorbent as when I was a kid, sticky and plastic, now I’m becoming myself. Mmm, that’s a thought. Becoming yourself. I thought of that the other day and my limbs felt harder and more present than they had before. I looked at my hand and thought I had earned these freckles. I had earned these scars. These arms have been with me 25 years, these same arms. That caused another round of disassociation, but a pleasant one.
My friends write blogs about other things in their life and I think I want to write about that too like a greedy child raising their hand call on me call on me call on me! I want to unzip myself and step out, unzip myself and step out, see the matryoshka doll inside.
I want to be all the parts of myself all at once and don’t know how.