I’ve got so many things on my mind that I want to write about that it’s hard to actually sit down and focus on one topic.
I finally wrote an article that I’ve been threatening to write for over a year now. sambear is going to shop it around a bit. He suggested a topic for a follow-up, so I’m mulling that one over.
All kinds of stuff came up on my first day of morning pages about my internal definition of “adult.” Very, very toxic stuff, and I think it’s tied into why I stopped writing, stopped creating in general. I feel like I’m on the edge of something somehow. Even my name doesn’t fit.
I’ve never that I’ve had a name that was mine, truly mine. Cynthia Lynn feels reasonably comfortable now, but I’ve never had a last name that’s mine at all. I’ve had my father’s name and three husbands’ names. I use Armistead because it’s Katie’s name—or really, her father’s name.
Even TechnoMom, which has been my moniker for 7 years now, doesn’t fit. I’m still The Mommy. I’m still a geek. But they aren’t the most important parts of who I am, and I want a name that fits better. I don’t know what that’ll be.
I’m feeling extremely introverted, too. In fact, I wonder if my delays in getting the apartment straightened out are due to wanting to stay isolated. Whatever it is, Sam has tomorrow off, and we plan to move out a lot more clutter if we can borrow a friend’s truck.
