This: The constancy with which my brain flits around?, when I want to staple it to one particular subject? damnit.
I don’t have adhd or anything even close. But man, the way my brain skitters from the things I must think, or do. Reptilian, arachnid. Disgusting and in my own flipping head. The car certainly took over great swathes of field for the past few weeks, but I’ve got work to do, and tv to avoid.
I really want to be away, in isolation someplace, and I even want it to be something I have to stretch through, struggle with. I think I need to face myself. Label the parts of me that flit and merge and morph. I think the slips of paper will coalesce into something I can understand more.me. yesterday, 12/6/22
I’m grateful for woodstoves. Coffee. Soft clothing.
I’m grateful that I’ve started to hold real boundaries. That I can see that they are good for me, that they hold me to the standard of protecting myself, in a healthy way. I’m grateful that I can rely on my sense of humor, even when I don’t know how I can possibly be accessing it. I’m just glad that I can walk through the world like I can.
I’m grateful for the time and the space I’ve had these last 7 years. This ability to ‘not work’, pay my bills and watch the kids grow, all because I married someone who now makes a lot of money. How ’bout that. I suppose I am supposed to stretch and say I’m glad I married him. Sigh. Working on it.
So glad of them, though, so unblemished a gratitude… so grateful that they exist, so proud that I find them so interesting and funny and full of heart.
All in one day, folks. All in one day. It’s astonishing I’ve not won the Pulitzer, isn’t it?
2 thoughts on “Yesterday I wrote. . .”
I think that we need to arrange for a “writer’s retreat”one weekend this winter.
I’m down for that. I’ve got a fire to watch and will stock up on cocoa.