I’ve only ever known inconstancy. With 50 on the horizon, I believe I am coming to terms with certain aspects of my nature and inconstancy is one. Things change. I change. I change therefore I am. (…I am I am I am superman, and I can do anything. Does anyone else have song lyric mental sabotage syndrome? SLMS? There is no cure. Don’t want it anyway.)
Take this blog, for example. It changed. My last post, in May of 2014, was about my excitement and infatuation with a newly planted square-foot garden. Fast forward to the present. September 2016. I see from my window the overgrown, neglected plantings from this year, including tomatoes, herbs, eggplant and peppers. In both years, my enthusiasm was doused by mosquitoes and their love of my skin. (Parenthetically, I have a special loathing for mosquitoes and how they impact my love of the outdoors. Just WHAT is their purpose?) I have such a strong and painful reaction to insect bites that it only takes one and I’m dashing inside for cover. I would head out to the garden for some spiritual connection and soulful tending. I relished the feeling of nurturing the plants, watching every nuance of their growth with expectation. Before I knew it, I was covered in itchy, painful welps. Buzz kill. Literally.
S0, it’s been that long of a break in my blogging activity. Inconstancy. Like the moon, my nature is ever-changing. Inconstancy has been lobbed at me as an accusation and character flaw on occasion. Although others may not get it, I can try and recapture the chronicling of my ever-changing moods (SLMSs, you feeling me?) nature. Here’s my first attempt.
CynMarie 