The year I didn’t blog.

This was the year that I quit. I quit everything. I quit guitar lessons. I quit salsa dancing. I quit my softball team. I quit relationships. I quit blogging.

I guess that quit might be too a strong word. Stopped might be better. I stopped going. I stopped caring. I stopped showing up. I didn’t purposely leave any of those things. I didn’t yell, “I QUIT!” and storm off in a huff. There were no calculated decisions. No pros and cons lists.

I just didn’t have the energy to keep going. With anything. And so, I stopped.

I spent most of the year trying to claw myself out of a bad situation. But the more I tried the more I got pushed back down. And then everything felt even worse. And so, I stopped trying at that too.

Sorry if I’m vague here but it’s something I can’t talk about online. I promise I’m OK. I’m just not happy.

I never stopped blogging. Blogging has always been one of the things that’s made me happiest. But, for a time, this year, I rarely wrote anything. In all, I wrote 21 posts this year. 22, I suppose, if you count this one. Five of those were in January. The next five spread from February through July. There were four months where I didn’t write a thing. Part of it was that it was hard to write when I knew I couldn’t write the truth, what I was really feeling. And that cloud over my head was a cloud over my writing. And then I just lost any energy to write anything at all.

I’m back, though, kind of, sort of, with a renewed energy and a different focus. I’m taking different steps this time. Stepping towards what I really need instead of temporary fixes. It sucks more in the meantime but I’m hoping that, eventually, things will work out.

Sorry, vague. Whatever.

Anyways, since I was absent here, here is the year that I didn’t blog…

 

I marched at the women’s march.

 

I ate. A lot.

 

And had a lot of doughnuts.

 

Speaking of eating a lot, my friend Nick came to visit for a weekend. And we ate. A lot.

 

I went to some festivals.

And, yup, ate some stuff there.

 

And I went to Ribfest

Where I watched other people eat in the ribs eating contest.

 

I celebrated Fourth of July in Chicago for the first time in almost 10 years.

 

I played some skeeball.

The one thing I didn’t quit.

 

I went to the Field Museum to see the tattoo exhibit.

 

And the Smart Museum to see…concrete…

 

And I briefly dated a guy who took me to see concrete.

 

My mom fractured both of her shoulders.

I had to take care of her and her crazy dog for a week.

 

And I did a bunch of other random things…

 

And, in case you missed it, here are some of the things I actually did blog about this year:

I made New Year’s resolutions that I certainly failed at.

I organized my recipe collection.

I wrote about why I need a husband. (Mostly to have someone to make me pancakes and do the dishes.)

I turned 36.

I saw Hamilton. (And, sorry, wasn’t as obsessed with it as you probably are.)

I got a fig tattoo.

I took in all the cats. OK, like three.

I took a DNA test.

I got rid of my fig tree and got a new shower curtain and a new duvet.

And I organized my apartment based on the KonMari method. Including my clothes and my papers.