In comparison to the length of time many writers have devoted to their blogs, mine is in its infancy. But since I never plan to birth a child, I’m going to consider it my baby, take a page from first-time parents everywhere, and celebrate Awkward Laughter’s milestones in months this first year.
Don’t worry. I won’t bore you with a post each time. I already skipped January. But this one, or more specifically, the 60-day mark jumped out at me.
Sixty days is:
Twice as long as I spent training for my first 10K
Ten times as long as my last vacation
Sixty-plus times as long as my last bad date (although that one felt longer)
In my book, 60 days of sticking with anything that doesn’t pay my bills is something worth celebrating. Plus, I like any excuse to open a good bottle of wine.
If you read that headline and thought this would be about sex, get your mind out of the gutter. If you thought it was about graphic design, sorry, I can’t help you. This is story about falling and other not-so-graceful feats of klutziness – my expertise.
I bump into walls, desks and anything shin-level so frequently that you could play a challenging game of connect the dots with the bruises on my body. And in the last decade alone, I’ve survived at least five headers down flights of stairs. You could say it’s just the way I roll (or tumble).
A few weeks ago I committed to myself that this year I would dedicate a few hours a day, several days a week to writing for fun. Ha, what a joke! What I should have pledged is that I’d write regardless of how not fun it might feel on any given day.