Confessions

Christina's World by Andrew Wyeth

I’m at a, “why bother” place right now with writing.  I’m trying to change that, but it’s slow and painstaking, which is a lie.  Slow and painstaking conjures up the painting, “Christina’s World”, right?  As if I’m dragging myself up a steep hill using my frail little arms.  It’s not that way at all.  It goes like this: I sit down at the computer to write, but instead, play solitaire and think about how I wish I would write. Then I check FB to see if there’s anything I’ve missed, and usually there is.  Someone has undoubtedly read something else on the internet that they think I should read, and so I do, or had a meal or a hassle that I should know about, or they say something cryptic that lures me into trying to figure it out the back story by researching (notice we’re avoiding the use of the word, “stalking”) them and their friends and their friend’s friends.  Or, Emily Bazelon will post something interesting, like that Rick Santorum’s wife, Karen, was living with an abortion provider when she met Rick, that compels me to further research.  (Wait, what does she look like? Is she the one with the huge round hair?  Oh, no, that’s Callista.  And does Anne Romney always look like a backstabber, or is it just that one picture?) And so on. 

I thought maybe if I posted something, anything, even this confessional little paragraph, it would be a start.  So there it is.