So this week I did something that’s been kind of unusual for me lately, I cooked. I made mustard pretzel baked chicken. It’s an oldie, but a goodie. It’s the kind of meal that if I had a family, I might make for them all the time.
It’s kind of odd to think that this is the first time I’ve blogged a recipe since February… and it’s not even a new recipe. Honestly, this is probably only the 4th or 5th time I’ve cooked at all since February (excluding making myself eggs or pasta or something completely uninvolved for dinner).
I guess it’s time to admit that I’m not really a food blogger anymore – in fact I’m barely a blogger at all these days.
For the last year or so (probably longer, actually), my blog has barely crossed my mind. When It does cross my mind, I feel these things: Brief pangs of guilt for not posting more regularly. A vague sense of anxiety about how I don’t know if I want to do this anymore. Subtle longing for the days when I really enjoyed my blog, and the community I built here. Mild defeat, and the desire to just delete the whole thing – especially the really old bits about a life that I hardly even recognize as my own anymore. Surging (though fleeting) motivation to rally and start being really active with my blog again.
I work with social media all day every day, and I think working in the industry has made me really value my time spent disconnected from social networks. That being said – I find recently that I’m missing the process of writing. I am not ready to walk away from the blog just yet – but I did feel the need to come clean and admit that I’m like the worst food blogger in America at this point.
Apologies in advance for upcoming posts about nail polish, the restaurant scene in San Antonio, shows I’m watching on TV and random things that make me smile.