The Pages of My Mind
I just read my old friend’s blog. She has begun writing again, after many years of silence. She, like me, had put down her pen when she married her husband many years ago. For me, I felt as though I had found what my heart was looking for, so why should I look anywhere else for fulfillment. Well, not that I’m looking elsewhere now, but I’m definitely feeling the pull of creativity again. Just in the last couple of weeks, I’ve begun reading a book by Anne Lamott, and though I’m often put off by her blatantly honest, even vulgar brashness and her utter disgust with George W. Bush, I am inspired by her incredible finesse for painting word pictures. It leaves me journaling on the pages of my mind, and I am pulled back to pen and paper again – well, more like the keyboard.
But stumbling upon Sarah’s blog – or, rather, being “poked” by her on Facebook to come check it out – has left me perplexed at the timing of things in my life. Is this where God has lead me? If nothing else, it is a starting point. It is a release, an outlet, cathartic.
She has inspired me to begin journaling again daily, if not but for the discipline of the craft. It’s a good place to start, and I’m aiming for it.
So I’m pregnant with our third child, and my hormones have all but driven my patient husband over Niagara. It seems he cannot even have a simple, factual conversation with me of late. My nerves are on utter end. It feels like someone has taken the corners of my skin, clipped them up, and hung me out to dry, only they’ve forgotten to come fetch me, and I’m flapping in the violent wind, hot, frazzled, spent. I have this constant feeling of sourness in the pit of my stomach. It’s not like I want to wretch or even that I have indigestion, but it is similar, I think, to what eating a bowl full of lemons must feel like. It’s amazing the dark things that begin to seethe out of one’s soul once pain or discomfort has taken it to the basement.
He is humored by the moment-by-moment snippets I’ve written on Facebook or the blog, saying it is the only way he can figure out what is going on in his wife’s head these days. I’m hoping my kids come out of this nine-month period unscathed by their rabid mother.
But stumbling upon Sarah’s blog – or, rather, being “poked” by her on Facebook to come check it out – has left me perplexed at the timing of things in my life. Is this where God has lead me? If nothing else, it is a starting point. It is a release, an outlet, cathartic.
She has inspired me to begin journaling again daily, if not but for the discipline of the craft. It’s a good place to start, and I’m aiming for it.
So I’m pregnant with our third child, and my hormones have all but driven my patient husband over Niagara. It seems he cannot even have a simple, factual conversation with me of late. My nerves are on utter end. It feels like someone has taken the corners of my skin, clipped them up, and hung me out to dry, only they’ve forgotten to come fetch me, and I’m flapping in the violent wind, hot, frazzled, spent. I have this constant feeling of sourness in the pit of my stomach. It’s not like I want to wretch or even that I have indigestion, but it is similar, I think, to what eating a bowl full of lemons must feel like. It’s amazing the dark things that begin to seethe out of one’s soul once pain or discomfort has taken it to the basement.
He is humored by the moment-by-moment snippets I’ve written on Facebook or the blog, saying it is the only way he can figure out what is going on in his wife’s head these days. I’m hoping my kids come out of this nine-month period unscathed by their rabid mother.
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