What's it all for, anyway?

Tonight I watched a movie about a blogger. Based off of her blog. Blog. Blog. Bloggity.

And it got me thinking, what's this all for, anyway? Is there an end-game to my ramblings here? A point at which I will say, "there! I got something out of this!". Am I doing anything that matters or simply writing for myself and my few friends who read this? Is it truly as narcissistic and pointless as it feels sometimes?

I feel like sometimes, women especially, feel like we need to give ourselves permission to have something that has no point in our lives. We give ourselves permission for all sorts of things.

It is ok to take a break from theater to focus on life. It does not mean I am a failure.

It is ok to eat this. It does not mean I am a failure.

It is ok to move back to Vermont.
To go to bed early.
To call in sick.
To be afraid.
To cry.
To read a romance novel.
It is ok to need a break from your husband.
To need a break from your life.

It doesn't mean I am a failure.

Perhaps the point is to not have an end-game in mind, to simply remember what I've done and where I've been and how it felt. To remember how hard some of these things were. To see how far I've come.

Everything, and I do mean EVERY. THING. in our lives is chaos right now, and this blog, for whatever else it has been, has been a way to keep track of my sanity. To vent. To commit to perpetuity the ridiculousness that has ensued. Maybe it's the one thing I can really count on, because no one but me controls this blog. It can't yell at me, it can't suddenly spring a leak or surprise me with a new roommate or get stuck in the snow or run out of money. It just is. And I guess I've needed that quite a bit over the past year.

This blog just is. And that is perfectly ok.