I remember when I used to blog.

Blogging brought my husband and me together. Our first interactions were some mildly inappropriate blog comments; we were linked through some mutual friends' blogs. Very few of those friends blog anymore... Dave and I barely do, either.

Blogging also triggered the me to leave one job and begin another. At the time, this was painful and I must admit that there are still some hard feelings associated with the departure. However, it was ultimately a "net good" experience, given the people and experiences I've had since then due to the new environment.

I used to crave the acknowledgement of being added to somebody's link list. It took so much more effort to be recognized as a blogger worthy of interest than it does to add somebody as a Facebook friend. I was also a comment-collector, feeling vindicated when I would reach a high number of comments on a single post. Or, I'd watch my Sitemeter climb and find new heights for daily number of hits, feeling valued.

Inspiration slowed when the baby was born. The time needed to create a worthy blog entry was a ever-dwindling commodity. Facebook siphoned the motivation to take the time to compose a blog entry. Now, my only entries are when I have something that is weighing on my mind and I need a place to vent with relative anonymity and safety.

I don't usually watch Oprah, but last week I did happen to catch the interview with Stephenie Meyer. Did you know that before "Twilight" she had never really written or been published? Inspiration struck her and she went for it, unsure that anything would ever culminate from her efforts.

I find myself with ideas and stories and thoughts rattling through my mind on a daily basis. Occasionally, they keep me awake at night, screaming to be recognized, heard. I'll jot down a couple of notes in case I ever find the time to write about them.

But, come on. I can't even find time to post a thought on this blog regularly. I am working full-time, caring for a toddler, expecting another baby this spring, and working on a second master's degree. Oh, yeah - and we're moving in a week. (I am taking a lunch break from packing at the moment.) How could I ever find time to do something as selfish as blogging with that type of schedule, let alone time to try to write something fictional?

Writing has been a part of my life since before I could form the letters with my small hands; I used to dictate stories to my mother and illustrate them after she'd written out the words. In third grade, I created a class newspaper by hand and photocopied it at my dad's office. I've always been a verbal person and I process my thoughts through language, often preferring to write out my thoughts in a letter or email than try to explain them out loud.

I guess the bottom line is that I miss blogging. I need to do it for myself. For release. For a form of meditation. For a way to connect, not only with other people in the cyberworld, but with myself. When things get crazy, instead of frantically scrolling through lazy Facebook postings, I should take the time to sit down and think about something "real" to write about. Not for comments or site hits... but for me.