Now that I am a blogger, I am always thinking “I could totally blog about that” as I go through my day. And by “always,” I mean in the past 13 hours. And I was asleep for seven of them. Regardless, I now have a blogging theme rolling around in the back of my mind at all times. I wonder if this will stay, or if it will fade into my skull with the rest of my once-thought-to-be-brilliant ideas. I guess we shall see; life is such a mystery. And I’m wrapped up in it.
So, every blog needs a theme; right? Let’s think about mine.
I read food blogs, yes, but am I a food blogger? No.
Join me as I take a glimpse at my past year in food: I ate fruit and oatmeal prepared by my mother, accompanied by a shot of coffee before racing out the door to my seriously stimulating internship; I doused white rice with hot sauce and nibbled on Clif Z-bars, avoiding salty fish and anything that would disrupt my stomach and send me into the corn fields; I searched airports in California, Oregon, New York, Switzerland, and Greece for salt and vinegar potato chips; I took a cooking class in Italy and fantasized my future filled with meals prepared from scratch, only with the freshest ingredients; I made salads with goat cheese and decided corn dogs were OK to eat for dessert while I was being physically stroked by an eight-year-old who didn’t own a pair of shoes that tied; I am now eating a squashed turkey and cheese sandwiches from my purse as I start to toy with the concept of living frugally. No, I’m not a food blogger.
I don’t really know what they are, but this is not a ‘mommy blog.’
I mean, for the past year I have been gallivanting around the world, experiencing everything from sweating out a fever in Southern Cambodia on top of a bed I Lysol-ed because the sheets had probably never been washed, to getting a mud wrap in a Greek spa in an attempt (that was only successful for five minutes) to tighten my Swiss potato-filled thighs without actually having to limit my caloric intake or increase my exertion. I am not a mommy; I still need mine to teach me how to iron.
I love design blogs, but let’s face it: this blog is not one of them.
I am still two weeks away from paying rent for the first time ever. I put decorative paper on the walls of my room in college, but not enough to make it look like the wallpaper-esque décor I had envisioned. My hair is wet when I walk into work every day, and it often looks like I never brushed it. This morning I realized my belt was twisted in the back; and I thought I looked cute. So, that’s enough about that. I am not a design blogger.
For some reason, thinking about my life like this makes me want to sing Kelly Clarkson’s “Behind These Hazel Eyes.” I don’t even know the words.
Lunch break over. And there’s still so much to ponder.
But here’s another issue: don’t blogs need pictures?