Size Seven Shoes

It isn't that there aren't things I want to say. It's just I keep having trouble on how to say them.  And then I procrastinate, and procrastinate some more. So it never gets put down into writing. And the lull on this blog continues to fester.  There's also my indecision on what to do about my Wordpress blog. I do love that blog still, and it holds great sentimental value since it had its beginnings in a birthday gift that was given to me by my husband very early on in our marriage.  Sigh.  But... the ads.  The ads ruin it.  Anyway, back to THIS blog, I still can't figure out when something is significant enough to warrant a blog post honestly.  I do just want to write.  But I want it to NOT be boring or uneventful but my life feels rife with ordinary things.  I've an ex-colleague or two or more who have published books. Who carry out successful freelance careers. Who have admirable hobbies and accolades and every other thing that I don't....

 If only it really existed.  This little bit of hopefulness, playfulness that's just round the bend.  Those things that if you wish for hard enough, would actually come true. Just because it is so.  That in the dreariness of every day living, there could be an escape just waiting for you. With a blink of an eye, a gasp, a twirl, a leap... something would emerge.  Something lovely and fluffy and kind. Comforting and welcoming and enduring.  I could really use a dose of whimsy and magic today.