I want to blog.
I have SO many ideas. They come when I’m walking driving cooking showering. When I can’t sleep in the middle of the night.
Yes! I think. Yes! So perfect.
But I don’t write anything down..
Because I’m walking or driving or cooking or showering or lying in bed next to my husband in the dark of the night. Then I get home or to yoga or to East Jabib or to sleep and I tell myself I’ll remember. I’ll write it down later.
But I don’t.
So the ideas disappear.
Ha! Not really. They may get fogged in from time to time but they don’t disappear.
The truth? I get to dream about blogging and what a fabulous, even infamous, blogger I’ll be.
I tell myself I know how. I’m a professional writer for you know who’s sake.
I tell myself I’ll start soon. Later tonight probably. Definitely tomorrow..
Then the dreams disappear. I start thinking about how my blog is supposed to speak directly to my ideal client.
And I don’t know who you are yet. So how the heck can I talk to you?
Can’t blog until I know that. For sure.
Not a problem. I’ll know that tomorrow. Or maybe next week. Definitely by the end of the month. For sure.
But before I know it I’m 92, cruising around Ft. Lauderdale in a used Caddy, wearing a Marilyn wig and smoking cigarillos.
And I’ll be thinking about how I’m going to start blogging. Later today. Or maybe tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.
Only… I don’t want be 92 holding my dream at arm’s length (even though I imagine my 92-year old self with totally ripped arms).
So maybe I’ll start blogging now. Just one post. About the way the moths drive my husband nuts or the mold on my Trader Joe’s basil plant or the blisters on my big toes.
Not to be the next Brooke Castillo or to make a million or to impress all those nameless faceless people in my imagination.
Just for the fun of it.
Who knows what might happen?
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