I love writing. There's such a richness to the written word that is rarely exhibited in day-to-day speech. I wish I could learn how to transfer my thoughts up off the paper and out of my mouth. You'd think for a person as extroverted as I am, that that wouldn't be a struggle. Yet there it is.
It's so late. Everyone in the house is asleep. Even the cat has stretched out on my bed (the nerve) and passed out. She's not even in that jumpy-cat-sleep phase. She's just zonked out. I could probably tip her off the edge and she'd barely move.
So why did I decide to begin a blog this late at night? When I'm so bone-tired that I just wish I were sleeping like everyone else? Maybe it's that call, the call of the written word. I don't want to just play on facebook, I don't want to watch TV, I just want to feel like I expressed some part of myself, even if no one else hears it. Ah ha! Maybe it's because Matthew fell asleep before I was done talking and it was too late to call anybody.
And because I miss writing. I used to write about large chunks of my life and I felt so much more alive, like I could finally see what was right in front of me. I feel like I let so many pieces of my life trickle by without fully appreciating them, because I don't take the time to think them through and...taste them.
Yes, I'm back to eating for pleasure...
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