When I talked to my friend Ted about writing a book, he admonished me to write more regularly, and said “Quinn, a book can’t be just a random collection of your thoughts! It has to be cohesive!” Hurrumph Ted. Stop being right.
Frankly, I haven’t wanted to write, haven’t wanted to be public, and haven’t wanted to open myself up to scrutiny. 6 years ago my life became BIG and external – writing, divorce, new life, new experiences. Then I got pregnant, got married, and had a baby (in that order) and life became small. Internal. I cared about the people in my house because they are my priority and took all my energy. I was protective of my life, my family, and honestly, my stepkids. They didn’t sign up to have their lives shared (although they have told me many, many times they are SO OK with it. And asked me to write about them). I also had new in-laws I hoped to impress – but by now know I’m a wackjob. And yes, I’m a hippie liberal snowflake social worker that has been devastated by the presidential election and the ignorance that followed. Facebook makes me want to cry, hurl, and throw stuff within seconds of scrolling down my newsfeed. People, Instagram is WHERE IT’S AT. Food, puppies, and celebrity nonsense is far easier to deal with than children being shot at school and the cacophony of ‘guns don’t kill people, people kill people’ nonsense that immediately follows.
I enjoyed every moment of my baby. To have a genetic disorder, a dangerous pregnancy, and to be such an old bag when I had him – I valued every second with that sweet baby. Now he has emerged into an insanely energetic, opinionated and focused “big boy” (as he says) I’m ready to throw him back. KIDDING. We’ll keep him and hope for the best.
So I enjoyed my small life. Call me a pregnant Kylie Jenner. But the world is opening back up, and the outside is calling me, and my mouth is big and opinions strong. I can’t keep quiet anymore. I can’t sit back. There is WAY TOO MUCH fucked-up-edness going on in our country right now. I’ve never been more ashamed or terrified to be an American. Christ, I long for the days of George W and his smarmy bumbling ways.
So Ted, here’s your ramble.