I’ve been doing a little thinking. Only a little, don’t worry. About a lot of things. About this space here. About why I started writing like this and so publicly. It started out of necessity. To find some kind of community in a particularly alienated-feeling time of life.
20/20 ended up being such a great way to process becoming a parent to two people at once, to weather the mania and magic of toddlers, to watch the rubble of my old identity tumble to the ground and then, miraculously reassemble in some freaky, adultish way. This, here, just made sense.
I am not completely sure it still makes sense in its current state, as the basic premise for starting it has gone. I am no longer alone with these tiny babies, I’m now working a full-time job and hanging out, doing homework, making art and music with my insane seven year old daughters. It no longer seems right to talk about them or even my interactions with them the closer they become to actual humans — wait! I think they are actual humans. It seems not right in the same ways it doesn’t seem right to put pictures of them on the Interwebs. They have as much right to privacy as anyone else — more even — because they don’t know about the rotten things that can happen with their personal bitness online for review. Nope, not interested.
Do you see my conundrum?
If 20/20 isn’t about twin toddlers and their exhausted mother’s struggle to hold her shit together while also trying to be a creative person and connect with humanity, then what the eff is it about?
20 Fingers, 20 Toes 
Yes, ma’am. This is the quandry. The conundrum. The problem that has let my blog wither slowly on the vine. Or off the vine. Or some mixed metaphor that doesn’t fit right.
Don’t know if I should keep going.
I think if you enjoy it, then do it. If you don’t,…just email friends the same things you would post.
We would gladly read and engage and reply, just like blogs in the old days. Ye Olde Bloge Readers.