Summer is here. What does that mean? It means I don't go into school much except for the couple of TBA professional development meetings and a few other things. It also means my children are growing up more. Children grow so much over the summer—emotionally and physically. I've also been finding my footing on dating and friends and writing and editing and and and. It has all been so much. Too much. I can hardly write actually. I sat down not knowing what I would tell you. What does one slice about who feels as if everything is melting together? Smart people don't write anything, or that's what I tell myself. I don't even know who silently reads this stuff and never says a word. I get so many hits on my blog, but then very few people actually comment. I don't know what to think about anything right now. I usually feel like I'm making progress on whatever I'm working toward, but lately, I wonder if I am only deluding myself. And then I stop. I am not deluding myself. I am supposed to have joy. The wishes in my heart are well grounded and good. Not delusions. So I light my relax candle and take a few deep breaths. I pray. I ponder. And I try my best to figure out what it is to actually relax. Because duh. It's summer.
Blogging has a rather strange relationship with audience... we can follow how many views we have and where they are from, so when they read and leave it feels a little hollow. Yet, for most things we read we do not feel the need to respond, nor do writers in other mediums expect a response. I never expected to realise that blog stats have shifted my perspective on audience or reader interaction.
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