From the moment I could form the alphabet with my little hands - I would write. Letters to my parents, siblings, grandparents, imaginary friends.... short stories about the trees or the sun or the moon... It was always very comfortable to me and something I enjoyed.
As I matured, I never lost the ability to express my feeeeelings via writing. I continued to write. I have journals and notes chronicling my middle school angst - dealing with the 'mean girls' and anticipating my first kiss. I have a journal documenting my one and only excursion to Europe for 3 weeks at age 14. I have notes and letters testifying to how insecure I was in High School - and how much L-O-V-E-D a boy, and how he hurt my feelings.
The writing didn't stop after graduating - I have letters and journals describing falling in an all encompassing, passionate love with my husband. I have drug induced ramblings of our dreams and goals documented. I have excerpts defining how scared I was when I found out I was pregnant with our first son and how badly I wanted to be married.
We wrote our wedding vows.
Shortly after the wedding, I discovered how easy it was to type, and this brilliant thing called - The Internet. I started online journals, and email accounts specifically for communicating honestly and unbridled with some long distance friends. I have years of muse describing my quest to be "more than just a mom", writings filled with ambition and success as I started a very adult career at a very young age. I have venting sessions where the pressure was felt, but by the end of the entry, that pressure was turned into motivation.
But then... Something happened.
Nearly two years ago I became a SAHM (stay at home mom, or shit ass ho mo' fucker - as dooce would say). One would think that I would embrace my love affair with writing - seeing how I now had so much "free time" on my hands! I mean, after all, I was able to write amidst raising 2 children, a husband who worked all the time, million dollar budgets, marketing plans and hotels that never slept. I should be able to write allll the time! Right?
I haven't written since I came home.
I don't know why I stopped, but I did.
I'm really saddened by this - its a gaping hole in my own documentary. If I were to die, and someone would find all of my journals, they would have a very personal, in depth understanding of Melissa.....until she quit working! Did she die? Did she lose her fingers? Did she forget how to spell?
This - this blog - Moderately Unruly - is my step to remedy that. My attempt to regain the enjoyment and pleasure I received from writing, is right HERE. I have challenged myself to write daily for 30 days and by the end of the challenge, I hope to have reclaimed a little part of myself that I lost.
So, there you go. 30 days of Melissa. Don't like what I write? Think its crap? Yeah, um, don't care. This isn't about you, this is alllllll about me.