The problem remains

I have "writer's block" not because I have nothing to say, or even because I don't know how to say what I have to say.

I sit paralyzed in front the keyboard because I never intended to use this blogging platform as a place to air my dirty laundry.

But what do you do when the things that are indelicate to talk about have grossly outweighed all the "appropriate" topics?

I could show you my fall home decor, but I'd rather tell you about how much it hurts that I don't have the kind of friends who will drop in for a quick chat or favor, and end up staying for dinner or a bonfire.  And maybe it's me, or maybe it's society these days.  Either way, I think it's rude when people pull in your drive and don't even turn off their vehicle engine.  Maybe their intent is efficiency, but it translates to "I am very important and you are not, and I am so busy and important I can not even let the dust settle before I must go be busy and important with people who are not you."  I am lonely.

I could tell you that we are going to the homecoming game tonight, and how excited I am, and how perfect the weather is for a Friday night football battle, but I'd rather be honest about how tired I am, after running errands and being responsible all day, when the two people I most love to spend time with got to spend their days enjoying the weather and choosing the companionship of other friends.  I am jealous.

I could tell you how much I'm looking forward to my "girls' night out" birthday dinner this weekend, but what emotions I'm really tamping down are sadness and bitterness and self-pity for reasons that I'm not going to share here because even in my hurt, I'm protecting everyone else. I am woefully acommodating.

This is so pointless....

No one is reading any more.

My wisdom dried up with my baby loss posts, and these recent attempts don't benefit anyone.

But I wrote for a week; I met my goal.

And now I can go back to just paying a doctor to deal with the mess in my head.

Eleventh Hour Deadline

Definitely not habitual.

Writing anything today?

Completely off radar.

Instead, lunch date.

Overdue, anticipated, celebratory.

Queso, pear martini,

Favorite Alex's salad.

Arrived home only

slightly before bus.

Homework, soccer, backpacks...

at least THIS

drill is habitual.

PJs, Grey's, then

charcoal mask, Ambien.

But a reminder:

write your blog.

Fine.   You win.

Now, I'll sleep.

Almost missed it

Wasted all day

Reading books again. 

Maybe not wasted

But not productive. 

A White Russian

Or two maybe

As the day

Was seemingly more

Than I could

survive without fortification. 

Made it halfway

Through the week. 

Cheers to me!

Lunch date tomorrow

Gift card redemption

Via steak Maui.

Happy birthday, me!

A Simple Tuesday

Last night: inspired.

Today: writer's block.

Kindle download instead.

Trilogy.  One down.

Second immediately followed.

Afternoon passed, reading.

Air brakes hiss,

trio plus one

invades the quiet.

Novel begrudgingly paused:

must chase dog,

chasing two boys

behind the barn,

over the creek,

into the soybeans,

breaking her boundaries.

Please, no ticks.

Dog, son, friend --

home, albeit dirty.

Burgers, soccer, spelling,

showers, nightlight, kisses.

Sister prompts: blog?

I'd rather read,

but comply instead.

String word triplets

into this post.

Not my finest,

but that's alright.

It is something

to mark today.

A new author.

A quiet afternoon.

Orange tee shirts

on a quest,

puppy in pursuit.

Back-to-back

blog posts published.

Not habitual yet,

but a start.

One more time

Oh, why not?

Maybe this time.

Will it stick?

I miss it.

You might read.

(You might not.)

Discipline is healthy.

Writing trumps exercise.

(In my book.)

This isn't poetry,

haiku, or sonnet.

Not Shakespeare, Hemingway,

or even Suess.

It's just me.

Trying yet again

to get back

to that girl

who once wrote

all the things,

all the words,

no matter what.

No matter who

read the posts.

Or even if.

I've said before

"she's still here."

Ten years ago,

I started blogging.

My mom journey

was just beginning.

Here I am,

my caboose child

gone to kinder.

The house, quiet.

The cursor, beckoning.

The web, transformed,

unrecognizable from 2007.

Everyone's doing it.

Actually, done it.

Now, it's podcasts.

Maybe that'll come.

For now, typing.

Words and spacing.

Black and white.

Familiar, these strokes.

Baby steps, perhaps.

Three words only,

each line is.

But strung together?

Look! She writes!

A post appears...


***************

Once upon a time, I had a label "Your 3 Words."  It was someone else's concept, and I only did it twice before today.  But I thought it might be an easy way back into this writing groove I so desperately want to wear into my days.  Here is an attempt, this week.  Each day, a Your-3-Words post to jump start this ancient, rusty, neglected girl back into commission.

Wish me luck.

See you tomorrow.

You can comment.

I won't mind.

Really.  Go ahead.

It might help.

Hint hint hint. ;)