Dragging the dead, rotting, corpse . . .

EVERY ONE has a blog. YOU need a blog. Blog this . . . blog that . . . blog, blog, blog.

Considering that I've been involved in technology and working with computers for a long, long time, I am surprised that I have finally decided to write a blog. I feel like my dead, rotting, smelly carcass is finally being dragged into doing the inevitable. So be it. We shall begin.

I find I need an outlet. After having recently left my teaching job and given birth, I find that I am in desperate need of some way to express the thoughts and ideas that are continually emerging from my brain. It isn't that my thoughts or ideas are intellectually superior or full of a creativity never seen before--they are just thoughts that are getting all bruised up from bumping into one another within the strict confines of my brain. Granted, I often express these thoughts to "J"--my son, but at a whopping three months, he responds with a mere grin, an eager giggle, or a drizzle of drool. I recently found myself talking to myself. That was no fun, but I did like the conversation. Seems I agreed with everything I had to say.

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't just sit around blabbering to the baby in my milk-stained t-shirts, pajama bottoms, and claw-clipped hair. I certainly don't hold intense political conversations with myself as I fold yet another load of previously milk or poop-stained baby clothes. I am a sane person. This is what I have done since I have relinquished my career position for a more maternal path:

1. I go out to dinner with friends. We talk about babies and try desperately to talk about life in general (which normally leads us to discussing what's on TV. I'm not kidding. We got giddy as the fall TV season approached. Sad. So sad).

2. I go out for a "Crazy Night on the Town" where I pick up clearance outfits for "J" and bread and eggs from the supermarket. My last crazy night found me buying three different tablecloths. I couldn't make up my mind as to which would go best in our incredibly bare dining room (that basically holds J's bouncy, pack-n-play . . . and a bill-laden dining room table) so I brought them home to my "what would make you think I care about tablecloths" husband.

3. I play on the Internet. I look for houses in places I will never live. I research items I will never buy. I Google celebrities that haven't been around in awhile. I research careers that I can have from home. I add items to Kaboodle and MyRegistry. I check e-mail over and over.

4. Of course I cook (sometimes), clean, do laundry, try to take a shower (if J will let me), work out (sometimes--though I am completely jealous of celebs who have fab bodies only a few weeks after popping out a baby--more on that in a later post, I'm sure), read (so much more on this later . . . I've gone from literary classics to mama chick lit, oh my).

5. I take J out from time to time--we visited my previous place of employment, went to the park (when it was warmer), ventured for a walk around the neighborhood. I haven't yet had the guts to go the the mall or to an actual store, but I'm sure we'll try it soon.

I don't think my life is boring--it is fulfilling and calm and nice. I just am getting . . . anxious. I have horrible insomnia. For someone who used to be able to fall asleep within seconds of hitting the pillow, this is a horrible thing. I fall asleep during the day (usually with J in my arms), but at night, forget it. I figure it is because of all the thoughts running around in my head, constantly bumping into one another. Dang thoughts. So, blogging will hopefully be the outlet I need.

As for outlets, what have I tried?
1. Exercising. Works. Sorta. But, the thoughts eventually get up and run around again. Since they've worked out, they even have more energy.
2. Joining a mom forum. GOOD grief. There are a TON out there. I checked a couple out, but I felt overwhelmed. I mean, it is like going to a restaurant with 45 pages of meals. I feel overwhelmed. And, I hate to say it, those little signatures, you know, with the blinking lights and birth and birthday countdowns, jazzy pics, cute smiley graphics DRIVE ME NUTS. I know it is usually because these are young moms--they have to be--and I am not a *young* mom. I am not an *old* mom. I am in a funky mom purgatory.
3. Writing. I want to write. I mean, who doesn't. But, as an English teacher and person with an English degree, it makes sense. You will not find me quoting Shakespeare or Thoreau or any other great literary masters. It isn't me. I don't go crazy with grammar, spelling, or punctuation either. I just want a piece or paper and a pen or a blank screen and a keyboard. The problem, I just don't know what to write. I have bought yet another copy of Writer's Market. I have started searching the Internet. I need to focus and with a new baby and a mind that tends to wander between sleep and semi-consciousness, it hasn't been easy. Enough excuses, I know.

So, what will I talk/write about? I have no idea. I'm just going to let it flow (which is unlike that planner and organizer in me). But, I do have some ideas on what I'd LIKE to discuss:

• Being a mom (I have to, it is what I do and what I am . . . stop rolling your eyes)
• Politics (I am a flaming moderate with liberal ideologies and conservatives tendencies)
• People/Life (I try so hard to NOT be judgmental, but . . . )
• Religion/Faith (I have a ton of faith, it is the religion that confuses me)
• Health/Fitness (Wow, being a mom I am so much more aware of the stuff we are exposed to and what it can do to us--and I am not an tree-hugging, Prius-driving, organic, veggie-eating hippie)
• TV/Movies/Books--I am not going to lie. This is my life outside of my son and husband. I don't live in a culture-rich area with plenty to do (I used to--*sniff*), most of my friends work or live far away, and I live far away from family (states away, to be more precise).
  

I guess that's it for this first post. I have no idea when I'll post again. I guess I also have no idea as to who will read this. I don't know if I'll share it with friends or family. I feel like I might not . . . I feel like I need a place to be myself, yet someone else. I feel like I need to reach out to others who are like me and maybe not so much like me. I'm searching for FRESH.

Good night . . .