Not quite a year...

It's when writing becomes a chore, that I no longer see it's value.

Oh, this poor blog...so oft abandoned by it's author...  Only to be picked up sporadically in fits and starts.  

It's as though I've waged a full-scale rebellion, against the rules I set for myself!  Rather than attempt to adhere to my own set schedule of writing things out, I've thumbed  my nose in the air and said, "Ha! I just won't write anything!"  

(Self defeating, much?!?) 

What happens when you rebel against your own creative outlet?  Rather than feeling a lessening of responsibility, or sense of freedom from "the schedule" (both of which I assumed, yes, Ass-u-me-d I'd feel), the passing days-then weeks-then months became an all out denial of any creative thought.  Having stopped writing was as much as saying "I've nothing worth writing about" as it was a daily mantra that I am not worth my own time and thought and words.  Rather than letting the words assemble themselves on the page, I tucked away all those thoughts and feelings that ran through my mind and focused on pushing through and accomplishing for others.  

The glaringly obvious fact here is that if you are a creatively based person and you willingly deny yourself creative outlet, over time you slowly begin to lose those bits and pieces which inherently make you who you are.  Nowhere in my life is that more obvious, then in regards to music. Most everyone who knew me when I was younger thought of me within a framework of musical terms.  Such a large part of my daily existence was devoted to musical expression that I think no one could ever have imagined a time when singing did not dominate my life.  I run into people every now and again who knew  me when I was younger, and without fail am asked what I'm doing musically.  

Stomache-clenching moment...

Followed by self-denial (it's not important...motherhood is my focus) 

Barely perceptible…their eyes will widen, their smiles will freeze…the internal workings blaring out "Does Not Compute"...when I quietly tell them I don't sing-dance-act anymore. 

It's as though because my soul was broken I could no longer sing and because I know longer sing my soul has become empty...

Motherhood has filled my time, my heart, my mind… Not only because it could but because I willed it so.  The distraction that conscious parenting can provide more than suited my need to step back from exploring my own creativity.  What's distressing and embarrassing is that I like to think of myself as one who doesn't shy away from any challenge, and yet here for almost a year I have purposely done just that.  Daily avoiding the blank page...

And quite effectively avoiding just as frequently, my own internal dialogue.  

I have been busy, it's easy to say. Busy with the task of being busy.  Busy avoiding setting aside a quiet time to sit with my own thoughts.  And busy is a very easy way to be when you are trying to avoid something.  Each and every one of us is more than capable of filling every moment of every single day with all sorts of "need to be done" tasks, no more so then when avoiding something we know we ought to be doing. I imagine it's the very idea that the term "busywork" is founded upon.  

What have I been doing while all this time has passed? Busywork!