blah blah blah, etc.

 Please note that below you will find a winding, self-indulgent, photo-less blog-entry. I can only warn you and then perhaps, entice you to know that several more blog-entries are scheduled which are far more pointed, interesting, and photo-centric... while probably not less self-indulgent. Bear with me for I have been reading lots of self-help books and watching many episodes of the worlds most soulful show, the X-Files. Proceed*

See, the thing about it is, I have no idea what's going on. 

No, that's not entirely true. I know SOME things that are going on. I know it's apocalyptically hot in Austin, I know I am moving to a new house this very week, I know my daughter is in first grade (that means I can no longer spell out secrets), I know I have the world's kindest (and most patient) husband, and I know... wait, I just blanked. How bizarre is that? My level of certainty in this world today lasted four whole items in a row. It's unsettling if not sinister. 

The situation as it stand is that I am in a transitional mode, so to speak, in all areas of my life. I am racing towards that oh-so pivotal 30 years on the planet mark (still waiting on the reason that is such an important number, I hope it involves being inducted into a secret supernatural society! that would be neat.) Whether my age has anything to do with all the other chaos, I know not! But on the same horizon there is a litany of decisions to be made and each one comes with it's own crooked, possibly hand-painted, cryptic crossroads sign. Like you see in old movies or allegorical storybooks... picture the two roads headed east and west respectively, one sign points towards "scary possible land of enchantment" and the other towards "dreamland of perhaps fulfilled desires." It's like choosing between cerulean and sea-foam in a crayon box. The only difference between them is what you feel like after your picture is colored.

The difficulty of decision making only filters down for me, the way my synapses fire (or to put it less kindly, the way I have debilitating anxiety). Thinking about whether or not to have another baby and effectively restart the long-haul to independence (by that I mean having a margarita at 6PM on a weekday cause I can and it's been SIX LONG YEARS) all over again somehow paralyzes my upper brain functions in such a way as to make other decisions (to shave my legs today or not? to buy a breakfast taco or make oatmeal at home?) nearly impossible. I see an infinite stream of possible events spider-veining out from the minutiae of my daily life. What if shaving makes me late and sets off a chain-reaction of hurrying and frazzlement which I will inevitably take out on my family later? What if that breakfast taco means I can't budget in an iced coffee later today? E-gad. The fact that I devote time and energy to WORRYING about such inanities makes me self-hatred spiral right out of decision making mode!!! So there I am thoroughly disgusted with myself, first thing in the morning, and I have neither been able to shower or eat breakfast. Sigh.  It's not awesome or super-fun but it's who I am, today. And I am constantly pursuing and working for the skills it takes to overcome that kind of anxiety. Writing about it helps, meditation, pilates, the occasional whiskey drink. My friends. My husbands world-championship hugging skills. My daughters total disregard for whatever may be bothering me because she is 6 and when you're 6 your mom isn't even a person. There is such strange comfort in that! On my worst,  most anxiety-filled days I just remind myself that I may have no idea who I am, but I know who Avery's mom is and I have identity eternal through her. See, now, that makes me want to have another baby! Go back to start.

All this pop-psychology is getting a little confusing and I do have a point. Blogging and keeping a personal journal are two steps on my (therapists) list of ways to occupy my brain and creative energy. Streamlined, you know... flowing smoothly and with purpose towards all of those chaos causing choices... The blogging publically is important because I am a "sharer." A person devoid of the ability to keep it in. Never a woman of mystery, my husband knew way too much about me after our first date (not like that, dirty bird), because try as I might (if I ever did try) I want people to know me. I fish for a connection, a flare up inside the eyes, sparks of recognition and relation to rain down on me. I want to know I am seen and felt and so I cast out my nets in the form of personal details, childhood stories, dramas, memories... and I wait for yessss me too moments. Nothing wrong with it, as far as I can tell. I'm not ashamed of those desires, like I have been in the past. I feel best when I put myself out there, whether what I attract back to myself is connection or criticism.

Soooooo after what I believe was subconsciously a "vacation from my life" this summer, in the form of being anywhere but here and doing anything but the things that usually make up my life for 6 weeks, I am back and clinging to the shiny, tiny gem of clarity I achieved. If I continue to work on myself, if I continue to be open, and if I continue to be self-aware, the paths to choose will reveal themselves. And when they don't, I will work harder. What to do about family? What to do about business? What to do about body, faith, money, interior design, breakfast, hair color, etc... Those aren't the questions to be answered because they are all answers themselves, to the question of who I am. It's so cliche, so painfully trite, you'd think I'd be more embarrassed to reveal that I just know figured that out. Funny enough, I am a lot of things but I am not easily embarrassed :)

*feel free to skip reading this because all it really says is that I am going to try blogging again.