So I miss writing.
I miss it a lot. I’m so busy right now, being mom and Scout mom and school mom, and senior management and career counselor, and money manager and daughter and breadwinner, and wife, that I have no time to be a blogger.
Plus there was that whole implosion where I wasn’t sure I was ever going to be a blogger again.
But I miss it. I look around at all the good in my life right now, and then I wonder why I’m still so dissatisfied, so itchy for more and bigger and… Well… Just more. It’s because I don’t have this anymore.
Where we live, where we are in life, what we have going on now, it’s all great. Sharkman is happy in school. Rhett’s the love of my life. My job pays the bills and keeps us going. But there’s no me in any of it. There’s no sassy femme snark, or spark, for that matter.
I miss the queer femmes who blew up the blogosphere and the battles for recognition and talks about things like gender and identity and transwifery. I miss debating invisibility and the merits of stealth life and the drawbacks of being femme in a still-too-mysogynist society.
I love my life, but I miss myself while I’m living it. So maybe I’ll work on that, sometime soon.