I apologize to everyone who googled sabbatical and found my blog in hopes of finding some clarity and definition. Please click here for the Wikipedia definition of Sabbatical –
I spent the last 15 minutes trying to add the link to Wikipedia for the definition of Sabbatical and although the computer informed me the link was added, I cannot see at which leads to me to part in parcel as to why I ‘sabbaticized’. (I recognize this is not a word.) Just google it.
OUI OUI C’EST VRAI MON AMI
‘Listicles’, from what little I gather from the ‘blogoshere’, ‘are so toats 2013.’, I like them because they help me organize my thoughts. I still a bit unsure as to why they doth “offend.” Grammar police seem to be viscerally pained by anything that does not meet the bloody proper guidelines of the King’s English. To them I say, “Ceci est la vie”, because it sounds absolutely fabulous in French.
— Grandma , if you are reading this from Heaven, I AM SORRY for all my slang and discomforting use of grammar, I know you were stickler for the ‘English’- Straight Outta England.)—–
Over the past four or five months, I started and stopped a total of 5,645 blog posts in my head as I fell asleep. It was some good shit too. Examples, “Why I like Kayne West”, yet a voice echoed out into the night – Don’t write that shit or “Differences between Canadians and Americans”- again, the voice echoed – That shit WILL not be perceived as funny. Plus I live in the burbs of Toronto, and I’ve gathered, city life is a tad different from ‘un-Burbian’ life (life outside the burbs) and I have only been here for five months, that does not qualify me….YET.
Therein lies my problem, my brain will not ‘hit it and quit it.’ I recently mentioned to a friend with similar brain idiosyncrasies, “If we were wizards with mathematical equations, we would be GENIUSES!” Mathematicians relish in foreplay within numbers and I relish in the foreplay of words and over-examining life. I can not explain this “50 Shades of Darker Interlude”, it shall pass.
I thought what better way to come back from a break with a random sampling of deterrents that have kept me from clicking and clacking on the key board OR, as I like to lovingly refer to as my Sabbatical; because it sounds majestic and according to Wikipedia, I am well under the year time frame.
1. I need glasses. The readers from The Maxx are adorable, but they make my my eyes burn and water, which I can only assume is not a warranted side effect. My screen is enlarged at the current moment, yet I can not see all the pertinent aspects of Word Press, so I am frighteningly close to losing this post and throwing my tablet across the room. RIGHT now, the screen intermittently keeps getting bigger then smaller, AND I am COMPLETELY BAFFLED by this phenomenon, which brings me to #2.
2. Technology. I am not sure I can put into words my feelings towards “IT”. Yes, like “IT” from ‘Stephan King’. I am both drawn to ‘it’ and I strongly fear ‘its’ magnitude to take me OUT. A vivid memory just popped into my head. I had to download music from ITunes as a part of my 6596th part-time-domestic-career-endeavor. That system is the Spawn of all that lies beneath Stephen King’s novels of insidious vermin, no offense to Apple at all. This bullet can be summed up with the image of me curled up in the corner with my ipadpodphone, screaming out “WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY half-eaten apple gods WHY>???????”. That is a true story. I feel that way about WordPress too,classic textbook, ‘It’s not you, babydoll, it’s Me.”
3. We got a PUPPY three months before we moved from AMERICA to CANADA. I refer to the adorableness in the featured image. People are distracted by puppies who are distracted with squirrels or vice versa. THERE IS AN ENTIRE BLOG whose PREMISE is built upon this notion – called ‘Distractify’, whereas some of its content is cute animals committing insanely adorable infant pet crimes of absurdness. (Or maybe its called DisCATify with cat ninjas???) As I am writing, our 10 month old puppy, knocked over my coffee, incessantly barked at the treat cabinet, then barked at me and danced on my keyboard because he does not have 100% of my undivided or very divided attention.
3a. We moved from America to Canada. I thought it was going to be a walk in the park, because we had moved as a family a few times already. There ARE nice places to walk in the park though.
4. The Book. The Novel. Where art thou? Booking and Blogging are staggeringly different. I have tried to come up with an hysterical analogy but I haven’t even made it to chapter two in writing THE BOOK. I am not even a novice in “booking”, except, asking my husband to book family vacations. I cannot mom, book and blog, but I also cannot stop whining about it to my husband either, which leads him to book trips. To which I exclaim, “Oh cool, I will get some down time to work on my book”. (insert eye , neck roll and heavy sighs here please)
4a. I”M NOT COMPLAINING. I adore my life, I dislike my time management skills. The creative mind seems to be the antitheses of structure. My brain is like a ping-pong game of puppies, kids, big ‘phat’ words that cascade through my brainwaves, betwixt strongly worded Drake-Minaj lyrics from my 5k mini jogs with my headphones JAMMMED into my synapses. #letthebassDROP
5. I become gridlocked on the Anxiety Freeway and can not move forward. I hold a strange fear that my words will ring out as self righteous condemnation hidden underneath what is really a strong faith and endless hope. My spirituality smashes and breaks against the perils of being vulnerable in a sometimes cruel and undoubtedly aggressive on-line writing world. I do not want to be famous. I do not want to “get noticed.” For the most part, I do not even care about how many people “like” my writing. Paradoxically though, I do care. Of course I care, I’m a human being, not a robot. I simply want to reach people to to help make their day better.
5a. “THIS” (above) juxtaposes my healthy boundaries and steadfastly grounded fears with breaking free from the colloquial comfort zones in generation ‘whatev’. My love of writing is shattered by trolls who slay blogs with their anonymous faces or the draconian 1 star reviews on Amazon books. I bellow out – “STOP READING THE COMMENTS!” ..and I start again and again and again. And Again.
I am a writer. I have always believed that it’s forever the journey and never the destination. I may blog again, in 5 minutes, 5 hours, 5 days, 5 months, 5 years but I will never ever stop writing. I’ve come to the realization that writing is MY journey and no one else’s destination. I do not have to produce something for anyone else in order to call myself a writer.
This blog is like the ridiculous sweater I bought at Anthropologie a few years ago. It was on sale and the sales lady told me "it looks awesome on you." It's the most bizarre sweater, and whether it looked good on me or not, is highly debatable. Like these blogs, I look at them at say "Yeesh, what was I thinking,," or laugh or bath in their cathartic qualities. The sweater stays for the same reasons.