Where to even start.
It’s been more than a month since I’ve been in this space. Since I’ve stared down the blinking cursor. Since I’ve felt the tingle of something to say in my finger tips. Even now, I’m not sure what I want to share, tell, say. There are a number of things bouncing in my brain, a cacophony of to-do lists, observations, worries.
Typically, to silence the noise, I take a deep breath and pluck something to pour onto the page and watch as the burden lifts with each sentence or clarity makes its way out of the paragraphs or I simply enjoy the left to right motion of my thoughts finding their way outside of myself.
For some reason, taking a deep breath hasn’t been working. The thoughts are stuck. The page hasn’t been beckoning. And I miss it.
I’m not sure if it’s work. The fact that I’m creating, arranging commas and otherwise filling blank pages and just don’t have anything left. I don’t know if it’s the stage my kids seem to be in that leaves me exhausted after asking, asking, asking… I’m not sure if it’s winter, writer’s block, a hangnail.
Excuses. All of it. Today, with the sun shining through the window, the laundry begging to be folded, Bravo tempting me on the sofa, the hubby out with the boys, I am here. I might not know what to say, where it’s going, how to solve the problems, but I am present. I am at the page.
And that is a small victory.