Slogging toward Blogging

“Slogging” is an ugly word. Merriam-Webster defines “slog” as: “a spell of difficult or tiring work” and “slogging” as: “working hard over a period of time”. 

Somewhere along the line, I accepted the notion that blogging would be fun. Easy. Interesting. At first, I felt mysterious wing nubs on my shoulder blades and then, soared aloft while humming a giggle. Oh, to finally have a venue for thoughts, poems, conversations where I would sit down every day and joyfully express this, that, or the other thing. An invisible personal pocket somewhere “out there”  held gently in the net’s shimmering web where other special  people and I could safely synergize without the scoffs and condemnation of those toxic and boring people who sulk in front of their TV’s or monitors every morning, noon, and night. 

Well, dear readers, it hasn’t been like that at all for several reasons. First, to get this butt to this chair, I must roll out of bed and make the bed. Then, after fumbling for a clean enough cup, pour the coffee and have a tiff with myself about whether or not I should use the low-fat half and half or not. 

Since my apartment is more chilly than cozy, I throw the worn slate gray size 3X sweater into the dryer and when it is donned, I feel the first relief of the day (after the morning pee, of course). 

There are various and sundry other tasks to be accomplished before sitting to write. Tasks like washing the pan, plate and fork which have been hanging out in the sink with a harangue for attention. I give in, gratefully distracted for 3 minutes. The countertop’s stains dare me to get rid of them and I try, again. Faithful slippers, resigned to the fact  they are bound for the garbage any day now,  shake off their sigh of “oh, not again” and accept my cold feet. 

Then, after climbing into some “same ole’, same ole’” clothes, I babushka, check meds and moisturizer off the “to do” list and, with trepidation, begin The Walk toward the desk where the rolling chair is pillowed. I sit, careful to place this failing left knee in the proper position and pull the chair closer to the desk. 

After the laptop lid is raised and booted up and with The Urge from the white W painted on the blue square, I hear the click and feel relieved as a blank paper leaps into my day. Fear notwithstanding, I lift the lid on Imagination’s stockpot eager to experience what seeps out and prepared for whatever boils over.   

The blank paper assures me “all is well” and I pluck letters into words and words into pictures, textures, aromas, melodies, events, adventures and wonderings. Pleased to have made it once again. 

So, the slog is worth it. I wonder if you slog? And, if so, what do you slog toward?  If you don’t slog, what do you do instead to get to what you want to get to? Let’ talk.