I love to write. There is something really satisfying about pulling random thoughts out of my head, seeing them form in my choice of color and font in front of my poorly sighted, heavily lens-corrected eyes and watching a picture form right in front of me.
At least, I think I form a picture with my words.
Google images and clipart help a bit with that from time to time.
The only problem with my words is sometimes what I say and how I mean to say it does not translate well in written word. Much like resting bitch face (Google it), my creative expressions are often read in a different way, tone, or meaning than I actually intended. With no facial expressions or sardonic tones to guide the reader, it's open season on content meaning from time to time.
While I should feel no responsibility for that, I assure you, I feel great responsibility for that. After all, how good of a writer can one be if a simple relating of your children's antics turns into family issues? (Don't ask, you really, really don't want to know. And I really, really don't want to talk about it because of the overwhelming ridiculousness of it all. There. I said it.)
So for a long while, I've lost my desire to write. And now that it's slowly coming back, and I do mean slooooowwwwlllly, I can't remember all the things I thought I should write about over the last year. Is that a result of early onset Alzheimer's? Brain too full of useless trivia? Lazy? Who knows?!?
But I read a lot. I read a lot of blogs because there are some amazing, amazing writers out there.I love to see things through someone else's perspective. Today someone posted a link to a blog on their Facebook page and the subject was feeling tightly wound. It's beautifully written and here if you want to check it out.
|photo from storiesthatmatterblog.com|
However - maybe I am. Maybe, just maybe, it's the little things my kids will remember when they get older - making up silly words to songs in the car, laughing at ourselves when we are all starting to get tired of each other, those glorious moments when we operate as a team instead of some bizarre version of Survivor, the hugs when they are feeling sad or upset, the sheer pride for their achievements, and with any luck, the knowledge that their dad and I love them with a fierceness that is unshakable.