A Tale of the Neglectful Blogger

Again, I find myself being a 'lazy blogger.' I have been busy with work and some family things but for the most part, my absence from the blogging world is mainly due to not making time for writing. Writing is very therapeutic for me and when I am tense, I should turn to writing and not compound my stress by turning away from it.

With that said, I want to apologize for not commenting and posting on your blogs. I truly enjoy reading, learning, and interacting with all of you. Your blogs are wonderful sources of information and fun! In the past year and a half, I have met so many wonderful, like-minded vintage gals who have taught me everything from makeup application, hair styling, clothing, interior design, sewing, knitting, music, and so on. I also love reading about your sewing projects, the events you go to, the bands you see, and the people you meet. Overall, your blogs make me feel that I am not alone when it comes to my vintage obsessions!

So, when it comes to certain things that bring us joy, why do we often turn away and/or neglect those elements in times when we need them the most? As some of you may know, this summer was hellacious for me. I lost two aunts, my father has had some health issues, my mother is in mourning, and as a result from all the stress, I started to lose my hair (thankfully it was temporary).

For almost four months, I did not set one foot in the gym. I occasionally ran on my treadmill at home but I didn't feel a sense of accomplishment and one-ness with myself when I was done. It was like I was in a constant state of 'meh.' Like writing, working out is very cleansing and rewarding for me. I love that sensation of strength working out gives me and yet, there I was avoiding it like a disease.

A month ago, I decided 'enough was enough' and I literally dragged my lazy butt to the gym. As I struggled with weights that were previously easier to manage, I felt a rush of "ahhhhhh" and I realized *this* was what I was missing. I needed to get away from the stress by tackling the malaise that seemed to permeate my skin like stale cigar smoke. By the end of my routine, I was tired but it was a 'good tired.'

So, here I am writing, and I love it. I know that despite my knee-jerk reaction to go inward in times of stress, I have to rebel against my blasé self and do the things that may seem like an effort but in the end, bring me incredible joy.  In a sense, I am telling myself, "I am doing this for your own good!"