I'm amazed how mothers out there have the time to blog and the time to learn it on top of taking care of their home and raising their kids. I say mothers since those seem to be the only blogs I land on and they are usually from Pinterest searching for ideas on food or style. Mothers have blogging game. I do not. I only have a dog and I can barely finish a sentence without critiquing it redoing it over and over. I'm a horrible blogger. Not consistent and I know no one reads them so to me, my blog is more of a "blah" but I was told it's good to have one on your website. I do try though, but I hear the thoughts and they sound great in my head yet as soon as the typing noise starts...I forget what those thoughts were. It's not like painting, where I can start and get in a zone. Something takes over me there; it's effortless, sitting in my skin allowing the fluid sense of knowing rush through my veins. Each brush stroke has its own agenda, its own purpose and I'm just a conduit allowing it to fulfill what it needs to do. Even as I typed that out, envisioning myself painting allowed me to type without any hesitation on what I was going to say...they were fluid thoughts. That is what it must feel like with passionate bloggers.