I was asleep by 11 last night even with a screaming baby doing his patented I don’t know what I want isn’t that your job to figure it out routine.
Midnight cookie baking may be a long time off the path on this, my new life’s journey.
I am completely loving on this new blog template. I have a few teeny tiny issues with it such as being unable to change the myWritings header. It’s an image, not text. And the “s” on the end of Writing is bugging me. Stuff like that is how life goes being never perfect with all sorts of things we wish we would change and I’m gonna stop going all Nietsze on you over a free blog design.
My married name has more of a Web presence in the three months I’ve been using it than my maiden name ever had. In the wayback, I was cautious and obsessive about not showing up in online articles even ones that showcased the not-for-profit work I was doing at some point. Ten years later, I am cautious and practical. Revealing my name on Twitter while having a friends-only Facebook profile. You can find me on LinkedIn, but my public profile is no more than a digital resume.
This blog is hidden in plain sight. Facebook or LinkedIn won’t lead you here, but Twitter can. If you really want to find Erica Mullenix, you’ll get a gold star for your mail-order detective work. It’s only a big deal when I remember that sketchy details of my healing marriage are sprinkled throughout the pages. I have two thoughts on that: Q and I are human, and if my readers are, too, then those details make everybody feel more compassionate toward those trying to make their way. We are all better served by honesty. Second, I read personal blogs of people who lay it all out and I don’t think twice about the fact I know their real names. If they give me an address, I may send them a note or a book or something. It’s community in its best forum, revealing all the details that we are forced to hide while paying for the week’s groceries.
I post photos of my children for the same reason grandfathers carry wallets. Gotta show ‘em off, and you’d think there was something wrong with me if I didn’t.
