We are an unlikely couple. I am a stiletto-wearing, sushi-eating, skyscraper-loving girl. My Dairy Man is a boot-wearing, cow-wrangling, fresh air loving boy. It was a long road to get here, but this city girl and country boy couldn’t be happier to be starting a life together.
It’s been almost five months since I married the Dairy Man. Those months have been filled with adjustments, cows, and a whole lot of driving. Though I’m now a country-dweller, my job remains in the city – 70 miles away.
For this reason, I’ve talked myself out of staring this blog at least 45 times. When I get home, I’m tired, cranky, hungry, and have to be in bed by ten. It’s easy to talk myself out of things. Particularly when those things are writing. Or thinking. It’s much easier to snag a glass of wine and veg out before I have to wake up and do it all over again.
But, no more. I am out of excuses. I am a pencil skirt-wearing transplant to this barren frontier and I have a story. I often feel like I’m literally bursting at the seams. Yes, Dane Cook, literally. The Dairy Man asked me the other day, “how can you be a writer if you don’t WRITE?” Though I have ample opportunities to write for my job, that writing does not express me. A once avid blogger and journaler, somewhere along the way I lost my voice.
I hope to be faithful. I hope to find some sort of fulfillment from putting words to … screen. I hope to prove that I have something to say that is worth listening to.
This is my story. This is my journey. And I simply must get the Dairy Man off my back.