Blogging

I like blogging. If I had a day to myself to do whatever I wanted and if I could get past feeling guilty about all the other things I should be doing with my time, I'd make myself a cup of half decaf/half loaded coffee with cream and honey and blog. I might type for hours. I might stay up into the wee hours of the early morning plunking out thoughts on my blog. I might write until the cows come home.

My mom used to say things like, see you when the cows come home. I imagine this to be what my grandmother said to my grandfather in the olden days when he left for work in the morning, just after he put the cows out to pasture. The cows would always come home about dinner time, because they would feel that strong urge to be milked. Grandpa would always come home about dinner time, because he would feel that nagging pang of hunger. He'd also need to milk the cows. But when I say I might blog until the cows come home, I am talking about the old dried up Bessies, who are way out in the field with their red hats on partying the night away. I'm never ready to stop blogging, not even when it's time for dinner.

As it is , I find there are many tasks at hand that a responsible, home educating, working mother must do and they don't include blogging. I find myself looking for ways to blend blogging into the tasks. For example, I recently put water and rice on to boil for dinner and went downstairs to simply write the beginning of a new post. I figured I had at least two or three minutes before the bubbles began to roll in the pot, when I would then need to run upstairs and turn the burner down to low so the rice could simmer until done. That would gain me about 40 more minutes. It seemed like a workable plan. But when I logged in to my dashboard, I saw that many of my bloggies had posted new material and I began to click on one after another to read the new posts. I figured only about two or three minutes had passed, but when I ran upstairs to turn down the rice, I entered a room full of smoke. The water had long ago boiled out of the pot and the black rice was stuck to the bottom. I opened all the windows as fast as I could and turned on a fan, but I.T.-ologist was very suspicious when he came in. He wondered what we were having for dinner. Well, I told him, it wasn't rice.

Later, over grilled chicken and vegetables without rice, I.T.-ologist curiously wanted to know if the burning of rice had anything to do with my blog. This is not the first time I felt sort of busted- caught red-handed blogging, like it was a crime or something. I mean I'm not sneaking into the closet for a little swig of hooch- that would be wrong, right? But sometimes I feel like I have to silently disappear into the computer room and then pop back out and iron shirts, as if I was doing what I should be doing all along. Blogging feels almost wrong, but it isn't, right?

Sometimes I worry that my followers will be disappointed if I don't blog something new for them to read every day or so, like other famously successful bloggers I read do. I must post for the fans, I tell myself. But then it occurred to me that my 17 followers may actually have other things that interest them besides reading my blog. They may actually have other things to do.

In reality, I just have all these blog posts whirling around and stuck in my head, because there isn't enough time in the day to take care of business and pleasure and still blog. So, here it is 12:31 a.m. and I want to keep blogging, but I have to go to bed. My poor, adoring husband has pretty much given up on ever seeing me again.

What is this madness?

Can anyone relate??