It has been waaaaaaaaaay too long since I last posted.  I’m not exactly sure why that it is.  I mean, I kind of know why — work is crazy, kids have been sick for weeks, it’s cold, blah, blah blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah — but that’s never stopped me in the past, and doesn’t fully explain my extended radio silence.  Sometimes I sit down at the computer after the kids have gone to sleep, snacks and drink set up next to the keyboard, ready to pound out a new post, and I end up spending hours on Facebook and reading articles on Jezebel and Gawker.  I have at least four or five half-written posts floating in my head right now, but just can’t manage to get them out on to (virtual) paper.

Sometimes I just get overwhelmed by life and all the outside forces pushing in on me.  Work and money have been especially high on my list of worries these last few months.  When I worry to much, I begin to pull up social stakes and disappear into myself.  I begin to lurk on Facebook instead of posting, take weeks to respond to a friend’s email, avoid the “publish” button after half-writing a post that sounded better in my head than it did passing through the keyboard and onto the screen.


I love the movie Groundhog Day, always have.  Bill Murray is my sarcastic, deadpan spirit animal.  A few years before Phaedra was born, Rob and I went on a road trip through several of the Great Lakes states.  He chose to visit the house in Chicago where John Wayne Gacy lived and the Wisconsin farm of Ed Gein, the inspiration for countless movie villians including Norman Bates and Buffalo Bill.  I chose to visit Woodstock, Illinois, the actual filming location for Groundhog Day.  When I’m asked to describe myself and my husband, I tell them about this road trip.

Anyways, besides being hilarious, Groundhog Day is a pretty deep movie.  What do you do if every single day is exactly the same as the next?  How do you create a unique, fulfilling life for yourself when you feel stuck in the same inescapable, day-to-day bullshit that relentlessly refuses to change?

You either resign yourself to repeating the same boring routine every single day, or you choose to create something uniquely yours to go along with the routine.  You accept life for what it is, while trying to carve a little bit out for yourself to shape and make your own.

Moral of the story: I’ve poked my head out of my hiding place, and I don’t see my shadow.  More posts coming soon.

This entry was posted in ambivalence, Debbie Downer, let's try this again. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Hibernation

  1. Diana says:

    Happy to have you back!

  2. K says:

    We’ve all been there. Looking forward to your posts.

  3. 🙂 Looking forward to reading you again!

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