I went to lunch with some friends today. It was such a wonderful experience to share our walks with each other and just be real. In person. In Christ. An added bonus was a monster cappuccino. Ooh la la, it was so good. We talked about this blog and the last post in particular and my good friend encouraged me to share what it means when I write stuff down here. So here is goes.
When I write, it forces me to be still and sort through my emotions, thoughts, craziness. In order to actually put something down on paper, I have to figure it out a little bit first. So there is this sifting process. I sit and sift and sip coffee (the addiction is seriously out of control...) and abstract emotions that haunt me begin to solidify, hurts that really don't have a name start to gain definition, fears that are shapeless and looming large begin to come in focus and shrink. I can SEE things just a little bit. Enough to start sorting through them.
That is when I start to write. And I don't have a big process. I sit down, drink coffee, and pray for the right words. And then I just GO. And it's a little like trying to untangle a big ball of Christmas lights. Sometimes the words come slow for a while as I pick apart the knots, if you will; sometimes the knots just work themselves out and it unravels (in a good way) rather quickly. And before long, I'm done and where there was this chaotic and horrible mess of junk in my brain and heart, there are now real ideas laid to paper. And most of the time, all the angst and sadness and hurt that was rolling around inside is now gone. I took it out of my brain and put it on the paper and now I feel great. Okay, maybe not great, but better.
The morning after I wrote the post "Off," I woke up feeling like sunshine. I had been on the verge of tears for a whole week and then I wrote it all out of me. I think ,sometimes, when people read what I'm writing, they really worry about me. And I appreciate your concerns and prayers and love. But I just want to share that usually when I write something that makes me sound like I'm absolutely stuck in the deepest and muddiest pit possible, by writing, its like I'm climbing the ladder out. So by the time you read it, I am in a much better place. Its really amazing the way it works. I wasn't joking when I wrote way back in the beginning that this is my therapy of choice.
The girl is supposed to be napping. She skipped her morning nap because she's a sassy lass with attitude to the max. And she napped for five minutes in the car on the way home from our lunch date and she thinks that will suffice. As if. So Little Lady is in her room playing with the one puzzle that is not boxed up; from the sound of it, she's chucking the pieces against the door, apparently practicing to be a major league pitcher someday.
We are just a couple weeks away from leaving the safe harbor and venturing out into the big wide world. We are all boxes and messes and dog hair and "creative" meals. Two nights ago we had bacon and toast and strawberries for dinner. That was it. Nothing else. Maybe creative isn't the most accurate word... I can't say I love this time of the year. The time when normal people Spring Clean and we crazies Spring Move. The books are gone. The art is gone. The pictures of my Jameson are carefully wrapped in old newspaper and packed away. It makes me sad when it is all ugly and bare. But there is a ridiculously bright future waiting at the end of this tunnel, so I'll keep on going and packing and ignoring the dog hair and dust bunnies for a little bit longer.
I have to write again soon because I need to work out some thoughts, but at the moment I can't. Because the Sassy Lass who is way too much like me needs to get put back into her bed. Skipping Naps...as if.