This past week was a doozy. And I hate the word "doozy," so if I'm using it, file the information provided away as rough enough for me to resort to using one of my Hated Words (others include: an adjective that may describe good cake and rhymes with "hoist," "membrane," "discharge..." the list is long, but the discussion is for another time and place).
Coupled with my insane week (last week of nannying, anniversary of Milo's death, work chaos, didn't work out all week), I have this ridiculous blogger's guilt for not putting in enough time here. For not working at it hard enough... I'm constantly reminding myself that that's who I am. That's why I started blogging and have blogged for the better part of the past decade... just writing what comes to mind, whenever it comes to mind and ignoring any kind of pre-described formula. It's always suited me, but lately it makes me feel disorganized and lazy, to be blatantly honest. My blog has never really fit into a clear category--lifestyle would be the closest, and it's a far cry from the go-to girls who have really made their mark on what a lifestyle blog even exists to be. My lifestyle blog doesn't--and won't ever--consist of the tinkling arm parties and weekly fresh peonies and champagne toasts on a Wednesday morning and impeccably curated outfits on the reg. Nope... my lifestyle blog these days is more like: not getting home until 8 or so, rushing to inhale some dinner with my guy--sometimes our only real quality time for the day, spending as much of the weekend outside as possible--if only to be swapping out my formerly green patio plants for fresh ones, time with my girlfriends when I can fit it in, baking weekly and then feeling guilty for eating the byproduct, scrambling to race through my commute without spilling coffee on myself again--after feeling guilty that I didn't snuggle with Maizie long enough, feeling awful (mentally and physically) that I haven't worked out in over two weeks. So, no. There's no filter for all of that... but the good news, I suppose, is that it's still very much me. I flip back through insta pics and try to imagine I'm one of my followers--what does my life look like? Am I portraying it honestly? I think the whole of social media is perpetuating a facade of happy, and as cynical as it sounds, I still don't think I want to see the doom and gloom of everyone's day. So we all just keep on keeping on. We post the pictures that inspire us, we post the pictures where we feel we look our prettiest, we post to keep up with the trend (Starbucks cups and wine glasses, OOTD pics and clad in face masks, office culture and poolside). My intent isn't to complain, it's just calling out the hamster wheel that is life--specifically life with blogging and social media interwoven with it. So for those few of you who are my insta friends and you read up on me here: I wouldn't be surprised if you're confused from time to time, because the dialogue here never really seems to consistently match up with the sunny stream of images that I beam to you via your phone. It's two-fold though: while I am a bit more honest in my words here, and lately I've used it as a venting medium, I have a lot, a lot of good in my life. I am confident that I have it way better than most ever will, and that makes me feel like an ass for any ounce of whining. But it keeps me grounded too... I feel comfortable putting it all (or most of it anyway) out there, and this is me. I throw some instagram in the mix now and then, and I hope the two aren't too contradictory of each other.
(That basically came out of nowhere. I did not open my browser with the purpose of a half-apologetic, half-explanatory rant in mind, but there you go).
When I'm stressed, my coping mechanism is shopping.
So, this weekend, I shopped a lot. On a brighter note, my summer wardrobe is now satisfactory with some sparkling white jeans, a couple pairs of sandals and the whiskey colored wedges I've been obsessed with for a couple months.