What’s all this about?

This place is my refuge.

It has become, over the course of  two years, a vehicle of self-discovery and awakening. It began as a way for a freshly hatched stay-at-home mom and former journalist to keep up her writing and learn about the Internet and social networks.

I write only for myself;  I try not to pay much attention to Cystats and Technorati authority and all that other ranking and labeling stuff. Along the way I’ve made friends, discovered talented writers, artists and creative people. I’d rather have a few quality followers than a horde of strangers with whom I cannot possibly maintain communication.

While I’ve tried to stuff this blog into a niche, it just won’t fit. It is whatever I am when I’m writing a post. Like the weather, I go from windy to dry to stormy and, if I’m lucky, a stretch of sunny days.

Recently I had an epiphany. As cliche as that sounds, I cannot find a better word for it. After agonizing for two years over a new career path, a new direction — waiting for a sign of some sort — I gave up. About the same time I made a vow to try new things.

First, I joined a community-action group. That didn’t seem like a good fit.

Second, I went to a place to meditate. A door opened and a path unfolded right before me. It was the last piece that pulled together all the seemingly random puzzle parts I had collected in the last few years. 
Believe it or not, I owe it to this blog, this refuge. Who knew? I went after one thing and found quite another.

I am:
A mother of two girls, one a teen, the other a preschooler.
I am the wife of an artist and entrepreneur.
I’m working to let my artistic side out of the box.
I subsist on caffeine and five hours of sleep most days.
We are a multi-cultural family. Our youngest girl was born in China.
My first marriage ended in divorce.
I have addictive tendencies and I’m obsessive and compulsive.
My childhood was painful and still haunts me.
I want to leave this rustbelt utopia and live a simpler life in the mountains.
I’m not a girly-girl. I’m not a tomboy. I’m somewhere in between.

Names and details have been changed to protect the innocent. If you think I’m writing about you, it’s purely coincidental.

Comments and e-mail are always welcome. Send flowers or launch Molotov cocktails to  momzombie64 (at) yahoo (dot) com.

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