I am trying to follow in the footsteps of my beautiful sister-in-law Amy (sweetpomona.blogspot.com), who has a number of projects underway that I envy, from journaling to painting and writing. She's clearly deep into the process of self-discovery, and she writes with amazing candor on her blog. I think about doing this, and sigh heavily, consider napping--maybe some TV--and wonder if I just don't have a lot of self left to discover. Granted, Amy's a lot younger than I am, so I'm thinking maybe I discovered all my self back when I was her age, and just forgot what I did with it. I was busy cleaning my studio yesterday, listening to a particularly angst-ridden R.E.M. song that I didn't quite understand, and it occurred to me that my life probably ought to be more complicated--or at least complex--than it is. Not that it's easy-breezy or seriously pleasant--It isn't. I'm just not left with a lot to talk about (or blog about) at the end of the day. Unless you want to hear about my doctors' visits and my fascinating bevy of symptoms and pains. I worry that I've taken my New Year's resolution to appreciate the simple things a bit too far, and am becoming a little too simple for my own good.
Let's see what I can do about that.
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