I begin with an idea of how I want to tell a story and then there's no room on the board and no matter how many times I swap tiles I end up with letters that only spell six points.
I used to write better. I used to write- period. Maybe I wasn't that good. Maybe that's not the point. I used to read what I had written and it was a close translation to my feelings. The posts I didn't write could fill a Top 100 / Best Of Engrish.com list for how poorly my emotions and thoughts were translated into the English language.
My blog. As if I own you. I don't. I have permission to post things until someone decides I don't any longer.
There are so many bite-sized stories that could fill only a paragraph. Then there is the list of things I'm cautious about putting online. I embarrassed my daughter last night and she called me a life-ruiner. I wanted to share something touching she did for someone and she buried herself in a blanket.
People (the proverbial "they") will tell you how fast time with a child goes by and to soak it all in as if you could put it in a bottle. I wish in some ways I could go back to when I had my tiny baby, but I'd only take more pictures and a ton of video. I don't want to go back. I like where we are now. Even if sometimes I don't want to be the grown-up.
I hate "what-ifs" as much as I hate bell peppers. Give me reality. Give me now. I'll get to the next part when it's time.
Ahh..I have missed you my friend. Please call me sometime. We can take a walk, talk, pretend we aren't grown-ups.
I like this, even if it has sad parts.
I've been abandoning my blog too. I think we both enjoy writing just for writing sake, so we should.