The end of almost daily blogging

I missed three posts. I made twenty-seven. I like two of those twenty-seven. Not bad.
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I’m descending into hibernation mode. As much as I love lights and celebrations and family and cocoa, this is the time of year I want to curl in a ball and cry for a month. The Counting Crows’ song Long December makes me stand immobile and bawl my eyes out every time. Every time. I once played it on a loop in December and drove from Quincy MA to the ocean near Cape Cod at 3am because Oh My God, December could you be any harder?

Seasonal Affective need for long days and sunlight, holiday obligations, end-of-the-year panic about not having done enough or been enough, serotonin-seeking bread consumption, knowledge that I have nothing to give yet knowing family and friends and colleagues and homeless neighbors all need me to…these are the colors that paint December gray on grey on silver on slate on granite on gray.

Even the word December gets me a little downcast.

So I’m going to try to wake up early every day of December and sit with my light box. Writing. Either the old novel or the new novel. No client work. No cleaning. No email or audiobooks.

Writing.

Not “every day writing challenge” writing, but”do it because it makes you feel whole and you really need something in December that keeps you feeling human” writing.

Goodbye, November. It’s been a lovely time, really. And I now take all my energy and ask myself to rise to December.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

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16 thoughts on “The end of almost daily blogging

  1. Oh my god. I know. All of this. December. I just can’t even. Especially this — “…knowledge that I have nothing to give yet knowing family and friends and colleagues and homeless neighbors all need me to…”

    I like your plan. I might try it.

    • Ha! It’s not that I’m cringing at many of them, it’s just that I didn’t give the time or energy to edit them well. It was an exercise in frequency, not quality, so I’m happy enough with the results.
      Thanks, though. I do always like to hear that someone is reading and appreciating the effort.

  2. jeebus — i turn my gaze away from your blog for ONE MINUTE and now there are too many posts to read. and i haven’t been able to write anything since july. what is really engaging my brain at the moment is your tri-color cauliflower masterpiece. it is beautiful. and so are you. find that happy light, nappy.

    • Yeah, sorry about that sudden burst of posting.
      Cauliflower is toasted with a spice mix that Jen from Momalom taught me: equal parts salt, cumin, chili powder, plus my additions of smoked paprika, and tumeric. Olive oil on cauliflower, sprinkle spices, roast 425 for 25 minutes. My kids devour it.

    • Oh, January. January is tough. When I was in Boston, February was the hardest because I knew back home it was already spring, while the landscape within the 128 was not even headed toward Mud Season yet.

  3. Kudos for the 27! I crashed and burned long before that. I feel you on this. I was just giving myself a pep talk while trying to come up with a daily process or pause to keep myself sane this month. I like the writing idea. Hang in there.

    • I enjoyed your posts, and nobody judges a quitter.
      I’m telling you, in all seriousness: audiobooks or podcasts. Feels like real human interaction AND reading, all while you prep dinner and wash dishes. I waited far too long on Jenny Lawson’s book, but it’s soooooo satisfying. Do it. Do it. Do it.

  4. December really is the darkest month, but look how gorgeous dark can be…love the dramatic clouds hovering the mysterious ocean blue! Our nest experienced an especially dark one in December, but just like your photo, we hope to find beauty with it.

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