I was away AGAIN last week, in Austin, an amazing, awesome city I did not actually get to see much of beyond the confines of my hotel. I had a nice view from my room, but other than that, it was a long week of cycling between a hotel conference room, the Starbucks in the lobby, back to the conference room, the hotel restaurant, conference room, my room, lobby bar, conference room, conference room, lobby bar, lobby bar, lobby bar.
I was there for this workshop, and also to confront my own dorkdom because I totally freaking loved it, although there was a moment at 9:30 a.m. on Day One when I texted my coworker (who was one whole chair away) that I was "not going to survive this." Not so much because of the content of the sessions, but more because I'd stupidly done the math and realized I'd been awake for 22 hours straight the day before and was running on less than four hours sleep, and THAT'S WHEN they told us to pull out a piece of paper and do some personal and professional goal setting via a writing exercise.
AMY'S BRAIN: No. No I will not. This is dumb and I hate it and everything hurts and this coffee is defective.
AMY'S FINGERS: Bitch, you are going to at least PRETEND to set some goals because otherwise the Invisible Marketing Workshop Authority Figures will judge you and maybe give you a failing grade.
AMY'S BRAIN: I'm pretty sure we're not being graded. But I don't want to be judged, so touché. Write away, shaky hangover hands.
The exercise involved writing "I WISH" 20 times down your paper, and then completing the sentence over and over, with wishes you would need to come true in order to be happy in 12 months. I quickly ran out of wishes that seemed like good things for my boss to read if he chose that moment to sneak a look at my paper, so I started branching out and writing anything and everything that popped into my head.
Then we were told to start paring the list down. From 20 to 15, 15 to 10, etc. I knew exactly what they were trying to get us to do and I groused the whole time because I hate this touchy-feely life coach shit, but I dutifully crossed off wishes that, ehhhh, on second thought, I'm okay with passing on that one.
Finally, I got down to one final wish. And it was not the one I thought I would leave standing.
"I wish I blogged more."
And my brain was like, DAMN GURL YOU JUST LEARNED SOMETHING ABOUT YO SELF.
I enjoy my job(s). I enjoy feeling productive and useful and hellz yeah, I enjoy getting paid a dependable salary on a dependable basis, rather than the whims and drib/drabs of Internet advertising and sponsorships. I enjoy that I no longer feel OMGOBLIGATED to post here every day, that I enjoy my children more than I write about them, and I enjoy that there are actually things the Internet does not know about us, for the first time in a really long-ass time.
But clearly, I miss it. This once or twice a week thing is making me unhappy, for reasons that have nothing to do money/Internet fame/the feedback validation loop/etc.
I would like to write here more. Even if it's only about things that amuse only me, or just a few sentences, or shit that a NORMAL person would probably just put on Twitter, but the reality is that I very much dislike Twitter (SO. NOISY. SUCH. WANK.). But I play Social Media Expert during my day job, so maybe over here it's okay if I pretend it's still 2006 and none of that extra stuff exists yet.
I like blogging. I miss it. I am going to try to do more of it. No promises, though. I don't want your RULES or your SCHEDULES or your WRITING EXERCISES. It's 2006, bitch! I do what I want.