Holy cow, I just started a blog. My blog. After years of reading non-fiction, mostly memoirs of people who quit the corporate rat race and become authors, and, thinking, "gah, I'd love to be a writer," here I am. Of course, I've always read that the best way to be a writer is to -- wait for it -- actually start writing. So, it seems like today's the day I pull the trigger and do it. Yay me.
My husband and I went out for our 2 month anniversary dinner last night. (Yeah, I'm one of those women who counts the months. I was when we were dating, too, so at least he knew what he was in for). I highly recommend anniversary dinners -- for us, in the whopping 2 times we've done it, it's been a chance to reconnect on a personal level and talk about the things we used to talk about in early dates. Where do you see your career going? Why are you still so obsessed with video games? (I'll let you guess who asked whom.) It's a nice break from the already so cliche marriage-chat about the dog, the dishes, the weekend plans, his job, my mother, and on. (Meanwhile, how stunned I am at how cliche we've already become is a topic for another time.)
Anyway, at aforementioned anniversary dinner, I finally came out to him, saying out loud the thing I've been thinking in the 2 months since I was released from wedding planning... I want to be a writer. How freeing that was, to say it. How freeing this is, to DO it, at least in a tiny, baby-step kind of way. Yay for Beginnings. Cheers!