It's that thing, where maybe you mow the lawn once a week but take no notice and suddenly all of the shrubbery along the perimeter has slowly grown together to meet in the middle, where the weeds popping up between the cracks of the brick pathway along the side of the house are no longer just weeds but now they are the walls of a jungle that is taller than the house itself. (That totally happened last year, I expect it will again. I just never go over to that side of the house often enough to notice it happening.) That thing where those little volunteer trees now have trunks wider than the fattest part of my leg [I think those are called thighs, John] and stand thirty feet in the air, little limbs of their own that dangle down low enough that you can't walk beneath them without using your arms to deflect a collision. Three years ago I did not know what a Volunteer tree even was, lest could have imagined that a little baby tree could so quickly evolve into a bad thing, or worse, an entire yard full of them.
The good news is that all of those Volunteers are gone now, along with a bunch of the shrubbery from around the house that I paid someone to haul away a couple of weeks ago. Later this summer we'll cover up that brick patio with a deck and I expect that will greatly impact future jungle existence. And I already Facebooked my glee about the City cutting down that big dying tree in front of my house this past week. I'm still quite happy about that little surprise.
The bad news? I wasn't really trying to talk about my yard at all. I was talking about this blog. Except that I wasn't even doing the bare minimum weekly mowing. I popped in today and could've sworn I saw a tumbleweed blowing across the page.
All of this, of course, put my OCD into overdrive, and I grabbed the weed-whacker. Loosely translated: I unpublished everything that I'd published so far since starting the blog again, partly because it's been so long that I can't really remember what I wrote and I really have this aversion to my words being left to float around the internet where all kinds of untold damage could occur. I mean, the wind could blow and knock them over, and they might land on a house. Yes, it's a real thing and please stop looking at me like that. So now my blog is a clean slate, a blank canvas, and it can be whatever I decide I want it to be. See, the problem with dedicating an entire blog to one specific thing, like say, a house, is that eventually you're going to end up with two months of nothing to say.
True story: Last week a friend of mine who moved to Arizona a few years ago sent me an extremely random text message in the middle of the night. The subsequent conversation took place the next morning when I was actually awake:
Him: Bring back your blog. [see? Random]
Him: I was thinking about it last night. Your subject matter will have obviously changed, but there'd be a lot more variety. Plus, you could be the Carrie again instead of the Miranda.
Me: Miranda works for me. Carrie is self absorbed and annoying.
Him: No. No one aspires to Mirandahood.
Me. I have no desire to write and have people know my thoughts. There's enough of that shit on Twitter and Facebook. The internet has changed.
I was flattered that he remembered the old blog. (This entire conversation was in reference to "All Things Bitter", the blog I dutifully maintained for almost a decade and then unceremoniously walked away from.) I don't think I was even aware he ever read it, or anyone local for that matter. The thing with blogs is that you get yourself to thinking that the people leaving comments are the only people who read them.
At no point in this little random text conversation did I mention to him that I'd actually been blogging again for the past six months.