Restless.

It's after 10:00 and I really should be getting ready for bed.  But if I don't write something on this blog, I may burst.

It's been much much too long since I've written.  Because summer has been busy-slow if that even makes sense.  Busy with playing and making memories and family vacations and planning surprise anniversaries and such.  I haven't spent much time on the computer at all--and I haven't missed it a bit.

...That is, except for the regular pouring out of the goings-on in my heart.

This is not normal for me to rehash a complete Spring and Summer in one post.  It feels awkward--like I'm leaving too much out and putting too much in all at the same time.  But, I have to start somewhere and do something or the feelings and thoughts will keep piling on until I'm buried in a mountain of my own musings.

But where to begin?

Perhaps with an explanation of why the writing aspect of my blog has nigh disappeared as of late.  One word--INSTAGRAM.  It has been a tender mercy by allowing me to capture and post instantaneous memories of my sweet life with children.  I never had this opportunity before.  I would put off plugging in the camera and uploading the pictures for so long.  It really was almost a chore.  With Instagram, though, I find myself catching the small and the fleeting--things that would never have made my blog a year ago.

But with all of the good and efficiency that Instagram has afforded me, it's exacted a heavy toll.  The price of sorting through spinning memories and thoughts and processing my reality in a cohesive, flowing memoir sort of way.  Long ago, I blogged at least weekly, and the purging of my heart into words felt cleansing and uplifting--like taking a gasp of fresh air after swimming furiously to reach the top of the water.  And now, though the pictures are frequent, the words are not.  And deep down I'm a writer as much, if not even more, than I'm a photographer.

Yes, something deep has been lost for me with the gift of Instagram.  But it can be restored.

I'm vowing to myself to write again.  As often, and as much as I feel like it.  And maybe, if I feel like it, I'll elaborate on those Instagram posts because sometimes a caption just isn't enough--at least, not for a family history--which is why this blog exists in the first place.  Instagram will not disappear, because I find it so convenient and good in its own "enjoy-the-moment" way.  But I can't go on much longer stifling my writer's way, or I may go stark-raving mad.

Because before I was a photographer, I was writer.

And a writer I will always be.

For tonight, this is enough.  I'll save my summer reveries for another day.  I've said what needed to be said to myself and now I can rest.

Finally.

Note:  These words do not need an accompanying picture. :)

Good Night.