Bugger blogging. Can I be a housewife instead?

I think being a “housewife” sounds so nice and uncomplicated. I don’t know why it’s become such a dirty word.

Housewives drop their kids off at school, they tidy the house, they have coffee with other housewives, they pick their kids up from school, they cook dinner.

Women tell me it’s boring and unfulfilling.  How can they be bored and unfulfilled when they can sneak off to bed in the middle of the day to watch the latest season of True Blood or lie in the bathtub reading a book.

Sounds like a bloody party to me. Oh my god, I sound like a misogynist. Can women be misogynists?

Technically I’m a “housewife”, so maybe that means it’s ok for me to talk like that. Sort of like how it’s fine for African Americans to call each other the “n” word.

Although, if I was truly comfortable with my status, I wouldn’t be describing myself as a “writer” whenever I fill out a form. If it was so great, I’d be shouting “I’m a housewife!” from the rooftops.

I’m also an annoying version of “housewife” that doesn’t have time to tidy or hide under the covers.

Because I’ve become a blogger for some crazy reason. Dare I say it, I’m a “mummy” blogger. I don’t know why that’s such a dirty word either. I’m fine with it. Parenting blogger sounds like such a snore. I’d be perfectly happy to shout, “I”m a mummy blogger!” from the rooftops. Except someone might lock me up (Husband is getting thisclose as it is).

I’m not just a when-the-mood-takes-me mummy blogger either, but someone who spends at least four hours a day at the computer, tap, tap, tapping, for no financial reward, other than a handful of small change from snippets of freelance work.

This blogging business was meant to “lead somewhere” eventually, but it’s been more than a year and I’m still pottering along, staring mournfully at my page views. Aren’t they suppose to creep up, not remain steady or fall? I mean, I’m not getting “4 on a bad day, 20 on a good day” like some of the fascinating confessions I’ve found on the internet while researching “what’s an average daily page view on a blog?”, but it’s nowhere near the 1000 a day I’d need if I wanted to “monetise” it.

Now there’s a funny expression – monetising my blog. It’s quite the hot potato right now. The haves and the have-nots are at odds – the former are relieved to be making some cash, the latter are accusing them of selling out. Although, as Lori Dwyer confesses at Mumbrella: “I’m blessed to be able to earn a part-time income off my blog … but I have to work full-time hours.”

Crazy talk, no?

Is it all a sign that it’s time to blog less and watch more TV (or, here’s an idea, tidy up the house)? Probably, but there’s something addictive about blogging. It gets under your skin and you just can’t stop. You blog every day (or in my case, twice a day) and the idea of NOT blogging one day is terrifying. I don’t know why, it just is.

It doesn’t matter what state, territory or country I am in, I MUST BLOG. I tried cutting back to once on weekends but I couldn’t help myself, I had to post an extra one in the afternoon because it was eating at me.

It’s not like a substitute for some other evil – like lollies instead of cigarettes – because I still have all my other evils, much as I’d like to knock some of them on the head.

Blogging started as something to give purpose to my day, to hone my writing, display my skills. But it’s become a beast that’s turned on me and backed me into a corner, all teeth and claws.

Perhaps someone needs to start a Blogging Anonymous, with a 10-step program for breaking the addiction.

But then who would I tell all my innermost fears and secrets, if I didn’t share them with the anonymous world? What would be my excuse for trawling dodgy Hollywood gossip sites for tasty morsels?

I hate blogging. But I love it too.

Crazy talk, no?