Lots of words... too few illustrations.

My battery is dead and I cannot, for the life of me, locate the battery charger for my camera. So the search will continue, and there are still no photos of the boys or our Ohio excursion. Also? I just realized we didn't take any photos with my sister. Because I am a moron.

So I'm sitting here and feeling rather sorry for myself - not the least of which because I will absolutely, definitely, and completely NOT be going to BlogHer in Chicago at the end of this month. Because there are people there I would really, really like to sit next to and learn from. Also? I would like to find MochaMomma and give her bum a good firm "hello" smack, and then wait for her to figure out who the hell I am. Because once she placed the face, she'd appreciate my unhinged brand of humor. And my fabulous shoes.

I've been thinking about this blogging thing again. Why do I do it? Now that I have family reading it, I have to admit to a certain level of self-censorship. I really need to quit that - to stop holding back because of what it might reveal about me to family. It's difficult, though. It's so much easier to be completely genuine when I have no idea who I'm talking to. It's the same reason I can have ridiculously fantastic conversations with total strangers at parties while I struggle to put my thoughts into words with people I have known for years.

I should clarify that - with some people I have known for years. There are a select few who know me, love me, and forgive (and even sometimes embrace) my meandering stream-of-consciousness ramblings (yes, I do that in person, too). My husband, for one. My friend the Rocash. Dr. Allie. Sheena. Trucker Man Dan. There have been others, but these are the ones who have known me longest and best, and were never frightened off when I start rambling aloud about the nature of existence or pontificating on the nature of morality or the idea of "God" as a way to describe Unified Field Theory, or vice-versa.

I like to talk a lot. Many times, I talk about things about which I have only a very rudimentary understanding. Other times, I talk about crochet patterns or recipes for a better breakfast burrito. (I have a killer one if anybody is interested.)

The problem, though, is that I live in the suburbs. Instead of bringing some sense of community, a "We're all in this together"-ness, I find it a place of isolation. A place where neighbors know very little about each other, unless somebody's husband is having an affair or someone forgets to mow their lawn.

So, in the end, I think the biggest reason that I keep on with this Blogging business is because it is often the closest I can come to having a meaningful conversation. Okay, so the conversation is mainly with myself - but, again, that is something I do in person, as well. It's a habit handed down from my mother, who always said that sometimes it was the best conversations she ever had. Of course, people look at me funny from time to time - like when I'm in the grocery store and don't realize I'm doing it. "Let's see... we need eggs, bread, milk, cheese... Oh! No, wait, I bought cheese yesterday, didn't I.... well, hummus and pitas, then. Something else snacky..."

A few things have happened lately that have made writing here difficult. One is the sheer weight of responsibility in being a wife, a mum, and a housekeeper, cook, maid, and taxi driver. The other, more recent and pressing, is a personal matter that I told my husband I would not blog about. I had no idea it would be so difficult.

Because, in the end, the people I want most to talk to about things are the ones who will just listen. I'm a great listener, too - don't get me wrong. But when my head is full, sometimes I just need someone to listen while the pressure valve releases. Someone who won't judge, or look at me differently because of the self-revelations that may be mixed in with all the chitter-chatter.

My sister mentioned that she and I have always got along - that she always knew I didn't judge her. I simply take people as I find them and, if they want to know something from me, I try to pass it along as best I know how. I don't assume everyone wants my advice. I don't expect everyone else to live according to my blueprint for their lives. I figure everyone is on their own path, and the best I can do is maybe talk when I have something to say, and keep my mouth shut if somebody doesn't want to hear it.

I think this is the one place that I can talk, and it doesn't matter if anyone wants to hear it or not. It's the one place I can have a conversation with myself, and let anyone who wants join in. Very few people have jumped into the discussion, to be sure... but as long as I live the conversation will continue in one form or another.

If I had the chance to describe life on the simplest level, it would be something along these lines: It's all one long conversation that began before I was born and will continue after I am gone, and for a brief, small moment I get to take part in it.