Stitching, Time, and an Adult

Ah, the art of blogging and website making. Some people certainly have the knack for it. They live for it. Their hands shake over keyboards, their breathing rushed, eyes wide, their bullet to-do list color coded and extensively stickered and drawn on. I envy those bastards. I picture them unfairly skinny because of their hour run in the morning and yoga sessions and rock climbing in the evenings, their hair perfect always, always refreshed, focused and attention span unwavering.

And yet, here I am. Just off of work in my dirty warehouse clothing, forehead that never stops perspiring because of the AC not working in my apartment in the middle of a brutal Los Angeles summer, and wondering just what the hell I am doing with my life. Ever since I could remember, I have had a website. A blog. A “www.” that I could call my own. It has always intrigued me. A space of my own, my creation. A love. Or, so I thought.

Really digging deep in my colorful forest of a soul, I have realized that for the past 8-10 years, it never was a love, but a sense of duty that I have entitled myself to. And here I am, looking at my grand P&P website with a giant question mark over my head like the Sims. I have tried looking at colorful Pintrest advice to boost my confidence, or to crack some deeply lying code within me.

“Top 10 ways to have a successful blog.”

“Make your website profitable in a week!”

“5 reasons why you should have an online journal.”

Online journal, my ass. Perhaps I have a hard time swallowing advice that tells me to be more open and bare and womanly and witty and a talk about everything when I am a naturally closed up introvert that prefers leather dye and ink stains on my hands than nail polish. But, I suppose those stains and cynicism are me to the core, and channeling that could be the best thing for this blog, or the absolute worst. I don’t know a lot of quilters that use the word “fuck” in every other word in their sentences. Although, if they are out there, I need to meet them.

But, something else is there. Deeper than what chipper women tell me to do.

For as long as I could remember, I wrote. I still have many hand written stories that I have written back in the “overalls and black choker” days of my youth. I even have my first comic that I have written (and illustrated, as you must know) somewhere in the back of my closet. I wrote in leather bound journals (those I did eventually burn. No one needs to hear the whining thoughts of a young girl figuring out that boys are cute), I wrote in my many creative writing classes, I wrote in my blogs, I wrote in many pages of binder paper (bless my mother for keeping a healthy stock of paper in the cabinet above our washer and dryer). But, along the way, it ceased to exist. It just…stopped.

Writing was my first love. I lost myself in it. I never was happy unless I was imagining a new story and wasting away all that ballpen ink. That obsession and passion. Gone. I became afraid of it. I still am. That sense of purpose gone, feeling like I don’t belong. So I began to ask myself what I really wanted with this good ol’ P&P website. I honestly want more from it (and certainly none of the reasons why “5 reasons why you should have an online journal” had to offer me). I want to talk about my life, and revolve books around it. I want to share joy whenever I make a hearty bowl of food. I want to share beauty of my travels. I want to show off my creations that I make in my spare time.

I am absolutely working on some hefty goals for this website, and I am absolutely excited to share them to everyone soon.

Be well, friends.

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