1/52

Hello, WordPress, old friend.

You’ve aged better than me. I’ve got stretch marks, fat, greys and ingrowns. You’ve become sleeker and faster. Your buttons have moved. I’ll find you.**

The end of 2016 was a humdinger: appendicitis, four colds, an adult ear infection, a serious break-in and theft at Nikolai’s work shop, a pulled back muscle and a suddenly mobile infant.15392750_10157770601205234_3145946320755264912_o

I decided in the middle of it to do something foolish. I’m going to regret it. I joined a tribe to write 52 essays in 2017. That’s one a week, folks. I might fade like a sparkler, and likely well before Fourth of July.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: Linsey, you can’t even shower once a week—how are you going to write an essay once a week?

To which I reply: I dunno. While showering?

Here’s the thing. I’m a writer. It’s what I do in my head when no one is listening. I make up stories and people and string words together like popcorn on a garland. And I’m not writing. Sure, I’m attempting to edit my manuscript for the gamillionth time. But it’s not the creation process. And I love the essay format. And maybe I’ll Jane Schafer that shit and make them all 5 paragraphs, in-and-out before I can finish a beer. (I think Jane drank a lot of beer while developing the 5 paragraph essay.)

I’m getting a head start and calling this an essay because it’s New Year’s Eve and it’s what will make me and my herniated? Spasming? Slipped disc? back feel better. That and the homemade eggnog steeping in my fridge.

This is #1, folks. And you are privy to it. You are so damn lucky! And look! More than 5 paragraphs! (Though I used the Freshman cheat and paragraphed every time I blinked.)

I’m thinking most of these essays will be about motherhood, because, HELLO. My world is shift-filled diapers and today the highlight was the projectile vomit all over me in the grocery store. What other aspect of my life could possible offer as much drama? Excitement? Suspense? Bodily fluids? (Yes, yes. But none of us care to relive my dating years.)

And so, here I go again. I am glad you are here.

**Ha ha. Joke’s on me. Still can’t figure out how to title a post nor where the “Publish” button is. I’ve lost my brain, too. No surprise!

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7 thoughts on “1/52

  1. Thank god for iPhone dictation. Just take the phone into the bathroom with you, not that you have solitude or privacy there!

    Barbara Kitchens

    “The root of happiness is altruism — the wish to be of service to others.” Dalai Lama

    >

  2. Oh, yea! I found you; in fact, it would appear I caught you with your rants down! I’m joining too; going to write 52 essays, or whatever. You wrote this yesterday after we talked at the store–so funny! Thanks for the tip, and thanks for the talk. I feel better already.

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