Parenting Without A License

Locked Out

Posted by Kimberly on November 9th, 2007 — Posted in Kipple, Blah Blah Blog, NaBloPoMo

When I started NaBloPoMo I kinda made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t write “I like cheese” type posts (I try to save those for the other blog). That, however, was before I spent over an hour trying to get back into my account because the system kicked me out and I could not for the life of me either find the password or convince the system to give me a new one. While nowhere near the frustration Mir from Woulda Coulda Shoulda (I’d link, but lord only knows where you’d get redirected at this point) is dealing with, it’s enough to make me want to pack it in for tonight.

That is an incredibly frustrating feeling. In many ways, I consider the blogosphere to be a sort of virtual room of ones own. It’s that place that we all can go to and gather our thoughts and form them into something greater than the random bits of poop talk, kid stories, and celebrity gossip floating around our brains. Our blogs are the place that we go to speak and to be heard. They are where we get to create our identities to reflect the way we see ourselves and to shape our reality into a narrative that reflects and celebrates those selves. So when the room is locked, it’s not a good feeling.

It’s made even worse when the swirling pressures of home and work and family make you long for a room in which to escape. A room where the only sounds come from your fingers hitting the keyboard and your thoughts are calm and orderly as they spill onto the screen. Rather than say, two inches of mouse space on a desk piled high with permission slips, children’s books, Hallowe’en chip bags and Coke cans–an island of insanity set amid the swirling sea of childish chaos that is your toy strewn livingroom. Where the children hover like vultures, always circling, waiting to pounce in distraction and demand the second you are engaged in meaningful work of your own. Where your quiet, rational internal dialogue is replaced by irrational tantrums over the laws of physics and a series of escalating threats over bedtime.

So, now that I’m finally here, I find that tonight, at least, this room is still closed to me.