A solid four weeks of LIFE taking over and keeping me from the supposed self-care work of journaling. I have managed two blog posts since May 30^th. I feel like my drive is just not there… because the material just… isn’t there.

I re-read old posts of years past and appreciated the language and the humor of those old days. I’ve lost something over as many years. Many things, really.

The kids were a constant source of material, until they weren’t – and then my posts went deeper and more emotional. The pandemic, for all the damage it did, was an endless source of material, until it no longer was. And then one of my biggest champions up and died.

I think I’ve written enough about the hell of losing my kids and the damage my toxic, narcissistic ex has done from his comfortable leather sofa up there in PA. I’ve put in some time on novel-writing, the direction of which is anyone’s guess, but at least I’m dedicating myself to the practice of writing, right?

What’s the point of this novel I want to write? Do you have any idea how many creative thoughts run through my mind on any given day? How sometimes they come to me in the middle of the night, when it’s dark and I’m half dreaming and don’t want to wake the dog? How inspiration falls over me like rain when I’m unable to sit down and let it flow because I’m not home? How hard it is for me to settle on just ONE thing and run with it?

I now know a handful of people who have published and, while I am happy for them, it feels like a stone in my gut that I STILL have nothing to show for all the stops and starts projects I’ve done over the last 15 years. Maybe it’s the Gemini in me, or maybe it’s the look!-something-shiny! part of me that just can’t finish.

Can’t decide who I’m writing for – does it matter? Who does it matter to? What is it that I want to accomplish with it? I try just writing it for me. I figure I’ll just vomit it all out and then go back and do the hard edits. And then I go back and decide it’s too self-indulgent, nobody cares, make it more interesting. More entertaining.

One subject matter I’ve written thousands of words on and in the end I abandoned the project because of who it would hurt. And there’s also this nagging little gnat that won’t leave me alone. I remember Dianna greeting one of the many kids who worked at the restaurant as a nagging little gnat, and sometimes as her “happy little hemorrhoid.” Mine are more… figurative.

Anyway, I’m doing a shit-ton of reading, much to Todd’s dismay (it tends to distract me from everything else) and finding a lot of inspiration from those novels. I also noticed a common, though purely coincidental, theme running through the last four and the one I’m currently in the middle of. Maybe I’ll write about that later. But not today.

Where’ve I been during all this literary impotence? Celebrating my birthday with family and friends and lots of good food, tending to family matters/crises, working the daily grind, celebrating navigating the chaos of  the 4^th with friends, a car show, gardening and sweating my balls off.

We returned to OCMD for the annual MSFA conference where I enjoyed my free vacation while Todd worked, walking the boards, sitting poolside and drinking pina coladas, and eating a medium-sized bucket of Thrashers French fries drizzled with vinegar (IYKYK) all by myself. Dined out with Todd’s colleagues as we always do – great food and beverages and even better company- and spent a day with Holly.

I went out on the beach on our last day around 10 a.m. under the threat of rain and parked myself on a relatively empty spot close enough to watch the waves crash. The sprinkles began to fall and I sat there, feeling the cold dots hit my skin and watching several folks pack up and leave. There was a bright spot in the sky over the water. I decided to wait it out. I was not disappointed.

The entertainment showed up shortly after the rain stopped – two young men with boogie boards parked themselves a few yards away. One of them, a chunky kid we’ll call Doofus, ran into the water, stumbled, and face-planted in the shallows. Got up, shook it off like he meant to do that, and made his way back to grab his board, which he spent a considerable amount of time “waxing.”

The two of them chatted about what they were doing and other things I tuned out, and eventually they made their way down to the water. I gazed over the ocean, noting this was no Hawaii, the swells barely topping two feet.

Eventually they were joined by three friends in wetsuits looking like serious surfer dudes. More conversation about the water and this and that and something about the conditions under the bridge. They all headed down to the water with their boogie boards.

I noticed Doofus was frog-walking through the shallows with FLIPPERS on, carrying his board, and I don’t know anything about surfing or boogie-boarding but I’m pretty sure flippers aren’t part of the equation. (Sidebar: apparently they “can” be.) I was riveted. I nonchalantly filmed some of it.

This poor kid, going all-in to join his buddies but he is looking ridiculous and I was unsure whether it was intentional but no one was laughing. Well, except for me. He wrecked more waves than he rode. No doofus has ever doofussed harder.