Sitting at my kitchen table, enjoying a bowl of veggies lightly sauteed in extra virgin coconut oil and pasture butter on a bed of quinoa and French lentils, plotting my return to the blogosphere...
Yeah, I might just be ready this time.
But what, exactly, do I need to ready myself for? (Besides people telling me not to end sentences in prepositions.)
I know what I fear and, honsetly, it's pretty ridiculous. What I fear - or at least the best I can distill it down to - is fame. Hmm. That's not quite it. More like notoriety. But not just that. It's the expectation of those things. The expectation that they would/could happen in the first place. The concern that people might expect things of me of which I might not be capable. The terror that people might be unsupportive, rude or downright mean about whatever I put out there - my writing, my recipes, my crocheted projects or other assorted arts & crafts that I happen to feel like creating.
Did I mention that my dinner is DELICIOUS? And that my fears are either wholly unwarranted or entirely overcome-able? Hmm. No? Well, it's all true.
So blogarrific I shall feel should anyone care to comment. But blogtemplative I have been, so all is well.
A Letter to A Certain Part of My Anatomy
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