The only other option for eking a few minutes out of my days is another pledge I make regularly: "I'll take a week off from blogging." Only I don't wanna do it.
I have so much to tell you about--I have a back-log of untold stories and yet more come up every day. For instance, I never got around to writing my "Pectin Conspiracy and How to Make Jam Without It" post (partly because I was smugly composing it in my mind while making blackberry jam that, as it turns out, I didn't cook long enough and turned out runny. And that was my holiday gift jam. But who doesn't love blackberry syrup? With lots of seeds?). More recently, I've wanted to tell you about the mole dying, and our first trip back into the woods after the summer of avoiding bugs and raspberry bushes, and my ugly couch.
Truly, I go through life thinking about things to blog, but the blogging can't keep up with the living (which is a good thing, I suppose. Much better than the other way around). And for the longest time I couldn't figure out why I have this urge to share this stuff with you, and to read about your stuff. Then I read Kristen's post today, about imaginary friends, and do adults need them, and it hit me. YOU are my imaginary friends!
Like Mary and Anne and Silly Sally and Up-to-the-Sky-Down-to-the-Ground Silly Sally and their 100 Silly Sally sisters (can you tell I had a lonely childhood?), you are the person with whom I carry on a make-believe conversation in my head. I can tell you about my drawer organizing endeavors, show you my latest project, complain or brag about my kids, bemoan my frustrations with writing. And I can visit your blogs and see what you're up to if I want to, when I want to, just like imaginary friends who are there, waiting in the background until I want them around, but never intruding when not invited.
And now you will probably never come back here again because after this post you'll be convinced I'm a crazy person, talking to imaginary friends (with your name!).