They overlap.
I recently put a lot of effort into combining several blogs* of mine into this one. I clipped posts (and cried) and pasted them here and inserted photos that seemed relevant (and cried). It was kind of cathartic to bring all my scattered posts together into one cohesive narrative I could reflect on.
The name of this blog is Endslices, and there is a little story behind it. I don't know that the rest of you will find it as adorable as I always have but I'll share it anyway.
Basically, the story goes that my Mama, before she was my Mama, had gone into the kitchen today to make herself a sandwich. Mama grew up with two brothers and a sister, so I imagine you just about had to make an appointment to get dibs on the food you wanted in the kitchen. Anyway, Mama grabs the bread and finds that the only options left to her are the puny old endslices-- and she sighs exclaims, exasperatedly: "Endslices, endslices! Story of MY life!"
This story always stuck with me.
For one, well, it's relatable because while the endslices are still a perfectly viable sandwich tool, they are somewhat less than ideal. They're fine, but they're nothing to get excited about. I hear you, Mama.
And two, because the young aspiring writer I was when I heard it thought that would make a great autobiography title someday. ...Well, Mom, I'm not interesting or successful enough to warrant an autobiography butttttt, you get a blog.
But the whole reason I ever wanted a blog was because it could be the literal story of my life, eventually. And once I got everything put back together the way I wanted in one place, I noticed that what's supposed to be MY life story reads a lot like everyone else's life story, and what my life is like when those lives come to a close.
The story of my life has been influenced so much by everyone around me.
If it was just the story of me, all I would ever post about would be the dull day-to-day; up at 7, work at 8, home by 5:15-- gym, dinner, snuggle dogs, repeat. Sure, that's life but it's not the kind of thing I want to look back and reflect on some day. There are moments of my life intertwined with the lives of others that I hope to never lose sight of. For instance, I had forgotten about that time Dad thought my birth control was cough drops until I dug that post up from the depths.
And this one time I had just adopted a spotted dog from the animal shelter and had no idea she would be my very best friend for 7 years. I should really post an update on Paisley. She was the best dog, hands down. I miss her so much.
And that's the stuff I want to document.
I guess I'm lucky enough that their stories happened to be tangled up with mine.
That's what I keep telling myself, at least.
Today is Daddy's birthday. And it's hard. So this is how I am celebrating. Organizing my place to tell the story of the thing we ultimately all begin and end with -- family.
*I don't know why I have multiple blogs but it's probably for the same reason that when I was growing up** I always had a million notebooks with only one or two pages written in. It's the compulsion of a new project that draws you in and then something shiny comes along and distracts me and anyway, what was I saying?
**Okay, and well into my thirties.
The name of this blog is Endslices, and there is a little story behind it. I don't know that the rest of you will find it as adorable as I always have but I'll share it anyway.
Basically, the story goes that my Mama, before she was my Mama, had gone into the kitchen today to make herself a sandwich. Mama grew up with two brothers and a sister, so I imagine you just about had to make an appointment to get dibs on the food you wanted in the kitchen. Anyway, Mama grabs the bread and finds that the only options left to her are the puny old endslices-- and she sighs exclaims, exasperatedly: "Endslices, endslices! Story of MY life!"
This story always stuck with me.
For one, well, it's relatable because while the endslices are still a perfectly viable sandwich tool, they are somewhat less than ideal. They're fine, but they're nothing to get excited about. I hear you, Mama.
And two, because the young aspiring writer I was when I heard it thought that would make a great autobiography title someday. ...Well, Mom, I'm not interesting or successful enough to warrant an autobiography butttttt, you get a blog.
But the whole reason I ever wanted a blog was because it could be the literal story of my life, eventually. And once I got everything put back together the way I wanted in one place, I noticed that what's supposed to be MY life story reads a lot like everyone else's life story, and what my life is like when those lives come to a close.
The story of my life has been influenced so much by everyone around me.
If it was just the story of me, all I would ever post about would be the dull day-to-day; up at 7, work at 8, home by 5:15-- gym, dinner, snuggle dogs, repeat. Sure, that's life but it's not the kind of thing I want to look back and reflect on some day. There are moments of my life intertwined with the lives of others that I hope to never lose sight of. For instance, I had forgotten about that time Dad thought my birth control was cough drops until I dug that post up from the depths.
And this one time I had just adopted a spotted dog from the animal shelter and had no idea she would be my very best friend for 7 years. I should really post an update on Paisley. She was the best dog, hands down. I miss her so much.
And that's the stuff I want to document.
I guess I'm lucky enough that their stories happened to be tangled up with mine.
That's what I keep telling myself, at least.
Today is Daddy's birthday. And it's hard. So this is how I am celebrating. Organizing my place to tell the story of the thing we ultimately all begin and end with -- family.
*I don't know why I have multiple blogs but it's probably for the same reason that when I was growing up** I always had a million notebooks with only one or two pages written in. It's the compulsion of a new project that draws you in and then something shiny comes along and distracts me and anyway, what was I saying?
**Okay, and well into my thirties.
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