So I have this writing problem.
I love writing. I think it heals me.
It allows me to process, to vent, to understand. It allows me to explore humor and candor, reality and dreams, and all of the pieces that fit together to make a whole me.
It gives me an opportunity to recognize myself.
There are times when the words form together in my mind and pieces compose themselves. I don’t have to think, I just have to listen to myself and urge my fingers to catch up to my mind.
Often, this happens late at night, when I am lying in bed.
If I am really feverish to document these musings, I reach for my phone on my nightstand. I open the “memo” section and text like a mad woman.
And then I am relieved. I am saved from the burning emotions brewing in me. Once I have released them into print I feel more calm, and can drift to sleep.
When the morning arrives, and my day becomes busy with getting the toddler dressed and making breakfast and trying to go somewhere so we don’t go stir crazy in the middle of this heat wave, the thoughts I composed the previous evening remain unshared in my phone.
And so my phone holds multiple posts, holding onto words and emotions that were once so prevalent they were all I could think about; but not being shared in the one community in which I could openly disclose them.
My phone hides all of my secrets.
(Yes, I am in BIG trouble if I ever lose that thing.)
So, in an attempt to re-connect with the blogging world and do what I came here to do in the first place, share myself, I will have to purge into the depths of my phone.
I am really not even sure of what is on there.
Some memos are just lists of what to get at Target. (Ok, a lot of them. Target is like my second home.)
But some memos are pieces of my heart.
So I will challenge myself and this blog (and my phone) to reveal more of the pieces of me.
And I will try really, really hard to be more present here.
On that note, does anyone know where the toddler hid my phone?