and so she goes


I spend a lot of my time competing with my toddler for my computer. She likes to slam the laptop shut and smash the keys when I'm trying to do something. If I happen to have computer time without tiny fingers, she will find a way to beckon me over for bouncing on the tiny trampoline or running up and down the tiny staircase her grandpa Nick made for her.

Right now, at 8:30 on a Monday night, I am having a moment of time because her dad is holding her. The problem is now that I'm free, I have no idea what I had been trying to get out all weekend...

I did jot down notes. I have notepads I carry around in my pocket and my purse and leave in places for easy finding. I have pens and pencils and all of the tools I need to keep my thoughts together. When it comes time to sit down, I find myself either unable to find these notes or I find myself deciding that all of the scribbles no longer make sense like they once did...

Writing is a part of me. It is what I think about when I'm waking up, walking, sitting, sleeping. I know I'm supposed to be doing it, but I keep putting walls around myself to keep myself from doing it. I think I mentioned before that there are a million excuses not to write.

I started to write when I was very young to escape a part of my life that was too traumatic to handle. I loved the idea that I could create not only a world to my liking, but the characters that existed there. I loved the idea that I could have complete control, because that number 2 on those lines was the only way I was going to get any back then.

Some part of me still reverts back to that scared little girl when I try to sit down. That scared little girl was more brave than this adult me when it came to these sorts of things. She hadn't shut herself down or even imagined there was a way to fail at something she was making up herself. There are times I sharpen a pencil down to a thin, sharp edge and write on white paper again just to try to unlock the part of me that wasn't so... controlling.

Sometimes it even works.

I went to therapy today. I know you came here to read about these sorts of things and not what it's like to live in a tiny house or all of the stories I have there. Actually, I went to therapy TWICE today because I thought that maybe working double time would get me where I want to be that much faster. Where do I want to be?

Oh look - the toddler beckons.

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