A blog about whatever randomosity my fevered mind conceives.

It’s ALL about me…

Okay, so I have a pretty busy day planned, but I am still in the ‘drink-more-coffee-and-become-less-of-a-zombie’ point in my agenda, so I have decided to take a few minutes to really impress myself upon this blog. It occurred to my yesterday, you see, that though I have been stumbling along the ol’ internet super highway for over a decade, I am new here.

Let’s begin, not at the beginning, but at the blatantly obvious…

Hello fellow wanderers, my name is Robin. If you’re reading this, you’ve likely already figured that part out for yourself, but it always feels right to start with a formal introduction. Now, since I am not nearly as rich and/or famous as, say, Cher or Madonna, I obviously have a last name… but I just don’t think we’ve reached that stage in our relationship yet. Of course, that information is available somewhere around here, for any who actually cared to find it.

I am 36 years old. I hate saying that I’m 36 out loud and I have just now realized that I also hate admitting to it in type. It’s not that I put a lot of significance in age; I don’t; but I have a very difficult time reconciling my physical age to my person and personality. To me, 36 seems like an age by which a person should have everything figured out… I most certainly do not. It also seems (to me) like an age by which a person should loose the piercings, hide their tattoos, cut their hair in one of those respectable-soccer-mom styles and get over their addiction to goofy little trivialities like crackle nail polish and fuchsia streaks… but I am not there yet either. Yes, I am well aware of how asinine these thoughts are, but it is my own private universe and as such, I can think as ass-backwards-crazy as I want to.

Anyways, moving on…

If I was asked to say something fundamental about myself, I would start by saying that I am the mother of two; an 11 year old and a 21 month old; and that my children are the most important thing in my life. I would then go on to say that I write. I wouldn’t necessarily say that I love to write; though there is an undeniable passion in it for me; because sometimes it does feel a lot more like indentured servitude than devoted love.

I have been writing pretty much since I learned to read. It started for me because I was always dreaming of other places, times and people, and I wanted to visit those worlds, experience those moments and meet those people… I also wanted to be able to continue my visitations, and so it seemed only logical that I scribble the thoughts down on paper so that I could return to my old friends whenever I so chose.

My favourite genre (both for writing and reading) is horror, but I tend to play around with any and all genres as the mood strikes.

At some point, writing became a guardian who caressed my inner child whenever she was frightened, or lost, or broken.

At some point writing became the therapist that helped me to ‘get through’ some of the hardest moments of my life.

These days, writing is still these things to me when I need it to be, but more so, it is an essential part of my very essence. What I know for certain is that i need to write at least as much, if not more, than I want to write.

There is a little nugget of me buried in everything I write, but that does not always mean that I am there. Often, I don’t even realize how much of myself I’ve put into something until I come back to it much later on.

Like every person on this planet, I have had to scale my fair share of obstacles. I’d like to think that overcoming each of those obstructions served to make me a better, wiser and more balanced person. I could be deluding myself, but I’m oddly okay with that.

I have worn many masks over the years, but these days the only face I have the time to put forward is my own… no matter how scary that may occasionally be. Though once I was a little mousey and demure, I now have a very LIVE-OUT-LOUD kind of personality. I’ve earned it.

I am both anal in my need for organization, and eternally trapped in chaos. I keep a meticulously clean house, but there is one corner that is almost always a disaster…

{This is actually a good day for my desk… only 3 books open is quite manageable . I tend to jump around between projects… even when I don’t want to. (If you’ve read ‘An unwilling affair with poetry’ or ‘An apology to an old friend’, you already know this about me.) There is almost never a moment when I have less then 10 Microsoft Word documents open on my desktop… and god knows how many other windows.}

At the beginning of every month, I sit down and put together a list of goals I would like to see myself achieve for that block of time. I pretty much never cross everything on those lists off, but at least I do try. Often the list will mutate as the month goes on; things added, things removed, new ideas jotted down; but I always keep the original list tacked up.

Hmm… so what else is there to say about me?

I have aspirations of someday being a published writer; of making a living at it; but I am willing to accept that we don’t always get what we want. That doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop trying.

I really want to go back to school. I mostly want to take some refresher English classes as well as a few different writing classes, but I wouldn’t mind learning more about some of my other various interests either. Hopefully this coming fall will see a fulfilment of this wish.

Though there are many in this world that inspire me, my idol (for lack of a better word) is Stephen King. His book ‘On Writing’ is like my personal bible; I am currently on my fifth copy since traditional paper books tend to start falling apart after awhile if you insist on dragging them around with you everywhere you go, reading and rereading every word, day after day after day.

I am somewhat spiritual, but I am not religious… I am undecided thus far in my beliefs. Consider it a constantly mutating work in progress.

I often have a very bleak opinion of the human race as a whole… but that doesn’t mean I’m not eternally hopeful, or that I can not see the various acts of compassion and integrity that our race is capable of.

I am not crazy (much), but I do have several strong (very individual) sides to my personality and I never know which one is going to be behind the wheel on any given day. Therefore… if I seem a little bi-polar from time to time, it just means one of the stranger ‘me’s’ is in the driver’s seat. P.S. At least one of those personalities has a very bizarre sense of humour.  

I truly do believe that each man, woman and child on this planet is the center of their own private universe… that’s not to say that I have a narcissistic view of life, its just that no matter how big the world is, no matter how minor one’s private tale seems, or how selfless we strive to be, we (each of us) remains the star of our own private little movie. And that, I believe, is how it should be.

Basically, this is me in a nutshell. Thanks for indulging me.

 

At any rate…

… good or bad, right or wrong, interesting or complete gobbledygook… thanks for stopping by my own private universe.

 

 

 

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