Tuesday after work and dinner

I should go to bed. I know I should. I'm not a strong person and I don't do well when I don't get enough sleep. But the dishwasher is churning (for the second time tonight) and its dark and quiet. It feels kind of nice.

We're moving. But we aren't allowed to take any boxes over to the new house (vacant 1.5+years) so the house is slowly imploding with cardboard. But the children still want a tree so by Golly, we'll have one.

On the cusp of good things, overall. I miss writing.

Do I Still Blog?

Oh yes- all the time.

In my head.

As I am drawing up syringes full of white milky Kenalog mixed with Lidocaine. As my hand swipes the spilled sugar off the counters on Thanksgiving morning. As I think about how it's coming up on seven years since Jonathan died.

Words weave themselves together in my head while my hands are busy, so busy. The words can't seem to make it onto a screen, or even a scrap of paper. The little notebook in my purse suffers from neglect and I miss the magic of seeing my words together in rows.