bath time isn’t going well for my husband. i always feel so guilty when i hear him having trouble with our son in the bath. or anywhere, really. i always feel like it’s my fault or that i’m not doing enough. but all in all our kid is a good kid most of the time, and i can’t really complain everyday. i mean, i could, but it wouldn’t do any good.

i’ve been reading through all my old blog posts. they’re up there if you have the stomach for going through somebody’s web journal. it’s all personal stuff that i felt was okay to share because i was anonymous on the internet. then i was stupid and told a few friends who found me and i froze up and didn’t post for a few years, came back, posted lots of bad love poetry and sort of fizzled off. i think the last time i posted on the old blog was 2011. i started this one in 2017, but i didn’t believe i really had the ability or the desire to write anymore. well reading through my old shit made me remember how integral writing was to my soul at one point and how very very happy it used to make me. i want that passion and joy again. i don’t know if i’ll find it in writing, but it feels like a good place to start.

be warned. i think this blog will be mostly stream of consciousness writing and poetry. i can’t imagine anybody is going to want to read this. but i’ll try to write at least once a week, i can at least promise that to myself.