What do you do when no one is reading your blog? You beg.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm wasting my time. Is anyone even reading this shit? 

But I don't stop. I keep on tippity-tapping my rapidly aging fingers against the little square buttons on my keyboard in hopes that one day I'll at least get a sparkle on Blogher.

My husband and I have been on a pathetically tight budget for the past five years. It's hard to wrap our heads around where we were and where we are now, so we don't... We just keep plugging away, knowing that the dark vortex sucking every last penny from what's left of our barely-there wallets, will not stay open forever. 

Or will it?

I can only imagine the whispers that went on behind my back when word got out of my plans to pursue a lifelong dream of being a writer instead of clocking in at the Gravel Pit. After all, what middle-aged woman with no college degree WOULDN'T want a piece of that dusty low-budget pie? But like a good little blonde, I just play dumb and pretend not to notice the lack of support and annoying rumors that continue to cloud my better judgment; and I keep on keeping' on...

Because I love it.

This is my second attempt at writing the same blog. The first was met with so much resistance and criticism from family members that I simply stopped doing it, and I'm sure that made them all very proud. It's been two years, but this time I'm back with a vengeance, and I mean that in the nicest way possible. What I realized during my brief hiatus was that it really didn't matter what anyone else thought; I still wanted to tell my stories, even if it pissed a few people off. In other words, it's time for me to shit or get off the pot, and this time ain't movin'

So here I am. Writing absolutely anything that comes to mind and praying that someone other than myself is reading... But not them.

Thursday was a particularly difficult and confronting day, so when the sun went down and my Melatonin kicked in, I decided to wash the day off and hit it early. I laid in bed for a long time, looking for answers that didn't exist; then I did something I'm not proud of–I pleaded with the infamous higher power to give me a sign.

I only need one; I haggled, even if it's just a sticky note taped to the side of my underwear drawer.

This morning I got out of bed when my phone told me to and started the usual routine. "You don't have to get up, go back to bed," my husband advised as he snuck in to turn off my alarm. "That's okay, I need to finish writing my blog." *eye-rolls*

"Are you sure? I'm taking her to school anyway?" 

His thoughtful persistence was beginning to annoy the shit out of me, and after a lengthy game of passive aggressive ping-pong, I ended the conversation, "I've got an appointment with Suzanne this morning and I need to get my post out before I go."

"Whatever..." he began with a half-assed chuckle smeared all over his unshaven face, "I was just trying to help out."

I went into my office to finish writing my blog. Shortly after it was published, I received an email from the Blogging and Social Media Editor at BlogHer notifying me that they would be featuring my post on their #NaBloPoMo page. *ding* A sign!

I may not swapping stories on The Ellen Show while discussing my best selling novel (yet), but it sure beats the hell out of wondering what if; and in the words of an unknown writer like myself...

Why stop dreaming just because you woke up? 



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