Thursday, September 10, 2015

The need to write

My emotions are so flat lately and I have nothing to write about.
Rather, I'm not moved to write.
Believe me, I'm not dead inside...I've been busy.
I have been running and running and running. Running on trails and tracks and through town after dark (with a friend & brightly colored clothing). Running running running.
Yoga. It's become habit.
Yoga is a good habit.
Painting & drawing.
Sharing my art. Selling my art.
Trying to resist sugar.
Trying to be more here for my family.
Riding my bike and honing my skills on some new trails.
Same post, different day.

I visited my brother last Friday (with my dad).
I didn't even know how to participate in the conversation this time. 
I don't know if it's my meds or me or both or what right now, but whoa.
Social graces kinda confound me right now.
I sat, listening, and mostly just observing my brother's appearance and his voice.
So much is still exactly the same.
And yet...
The jumpsuit. 
And everything that goes along with that.
I haven't seen him alone, just the two of us, since Camp Hill; shortly after our mom died.
I've all but stopped writing to him (I typically write at least weekly and email regularly, too).
I (kinda) told him what's going on, but I don't need him to worry about me.
I have two more years to write plenty of letters to my brother in jail.
It's fine.

My daughter has grabbed toddlerhood by the horns and has made it her job to try (often, in earnest) to break me down.
Everything is a battle.
She's fun and smart and feisty.
She's also moody and defiant and did I already say moody?
Who does she get that from?

These days, I find myself worn out by 9pm, defeated by a two year-old and realizing I will be facing the same ridiculous battles again in less than twelve hours.
This shit is exhausting.
Some days, she most definitely does not get the best of me...sometimes an hour has elapsed without us exchanging a word (she, playing with her Polly Pockets and me, sorting a mountain of laundry).
I know this is when I should be taking advantage of her spongy little mind and relishing in all these teachable moments.
She found a scrub brush and started "cleaning" the concrete front porch with some spilled bubbles.
Oh, how Montessori, I sarcastically mused.
My Early Childhood Ed degree is really helping me shine as a mom.

It's time to take my Klonopin so I can sleep and not fret about money/health/5 lbs of weight gain/Donald Trump/my missing Owl necklace/co-parenting/kids doing drugs in fifth grade/holing up & hiding from my friends/the creaky sound my saddle makes when I ride/my addiction to cold dairy treats in any form or flavor...
I bid you good night.

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