What I mean to say

I've been a blogger for a few years now. I made the mistake of telling people I know about my blog and now many people in my life read it and it's incredibly weird. I use it now to tell funny little anecdotes but never go beyond the superficial, because my god. Old boyfriends read that shit. Not to mention my in-laws.

I'm not sure what I intended when I started it, but I don't think I meant for it to be quite so...public. I absolutely see how that makes zero sense, what with this being on the internets and all.

This time, I hope to be a little more anonymous. Yes.

I'm at a strange place in my life. For the first time ever, I'm not working. I'm supposed to take this year to write and figure it all out. Figure it all out-there's a loaded little phrase. To that end, I haven't written anything in about two weeks. And anyway, I'm pretty sure I'm not good enough. And that just depresses the fuck out of me. That and the insane guilt for not "contributing", both to my own household and to society. Society needs me! Don't hate, Society.

I'm also trying to get pregnant. I had a miscarriage almost two years ago. Since then, we've tried on and off. We're in the third month of trying again. I don't want to talk about it with the Real People because I don't want any expectation. And for the love of God, don't ask me outright if I'm pregnant. In fact, don't even look at me. I see the question in your eyes. Your hopeful grandparent eyes. It makes me want to throw a heavy rock at something delicate.

I look for cercival fluid like it's the fucking holy grail.

So, I have this year. This year to get my shit in order, to find something fulfilling to do with my time. I've had jobs. What I want now is something my own. And a baby would be nice, too.

So what should this blog be about then? I guess it's about me trying to figure it all out. Oh, boy.