It's been a while since I have been inspired to be thinky.
Well, at least here.
I get thinky far too much in my day to day -- sometimes so much so that it leaves the laundry undone and schedules unraveled -- as in: we missed Bridget's soccer tournament because my father came a week ago, I went back "home," the Kid was gone for a few days and also, did I mention, my father was here? At my house? Yeah. Thinky happens.
I missed the email about the tourney and the game was at 7am this morning which I realized at 8:30 this morning and my mother is here now at my house and two of my kids have the pig flu, so, so yeah, I said, fuck it.
Bridget? Me? Not on speaking terms.
I am creature of habit and I get undone when my regular whirly-wheel is taken away. I have never been good with change. Neither is she.
So, I pick up a brush and a gallon of interior semi-gloss paint and I try to take back some control. I end up covered head to toe in latex white, and some roasted sesame and a little pumpkin orange too. I have flecked my diamond engagement ring and my leather watch band with the drops of paint meant to soothe me. I peel my best intentions from my fingernails -- rubber is good like that.
I dig off what was a stupid cure anyway.
I sit down. I read somebody's else's words. I read your words maybe. I read Free Man and he makes me sad and inspired all at once. I dig off the last bit of paint from my nails and from my elbows and I read something someone else wrote, and I write. I write.
Suddenly, the world -- the alphabet, this keyboard: it's every bit of control I ever needed. It's the one thing that never changes. It's the best moment of any day. It's words on a page that I put there, that I put there. It's words that feel good when I say them out loud after I type them (on good day), but always, it's my words.
At last.
At least.
Only.
My words. My thinky, ridiculous words. Mine.
Free Man: that's why we do it.
9commentsBrilliant Person Wrote...
Yes exactly! And it doesn't get all over you or need to be folded and put away when you're done. Usually.
I'm glad you have your blog, for you and for us. We like the thinky.
Yes. That's why we do it. And? If I were you I'd watch my back with B. Just sayin.
See? Here you are always making me happy you NEED to blog. You WANT to blog. I like it when you blog, Mizz Picket. You're a dreamy, thinky, brilliant blogger.
Ms. P,
It's a little rough for you right now, and I'm sorry for that. Write it down, feel better when you can, write it down again, and ride the wave. You're inspiring.
xoxo
Gah! I hate it when I do that...screw up the mommy calendar duties. Try to let it go. She won't remember for ever. And sometimes just saying, hey kiddo, I screwed up. We adults do that sometimes. I'm sorry and forgive me, please? They get that cuz they aren't perfect either.
I bet the paint looks good and feels good and soothes your soul a bit.
Hope the Dad visit wasn't too painful. And hope the other kiddos are feeling better soon.
My mom forgot about picking me up from soccer practice more than once, leaving me standing on the curb with the irate soccer coach, feeling unloved. Because I'm the last child, you know. Also known as the spare.
And yet? No permanent damage done.
Hey, Jeez, thanks. Really.
I tend to think that most people are better writers than me. Definitely think that about you. I aspire to write like you. So, I'm flattered to find a link here.
I think far too much for my own good. I wish I could turn it off, or at least harness it for something useful.
I get way too thinky way too often. I really just need to learn to let shit go already.
I love to hear your words - no matter if happy, sad or indifferent. Keep writing!
That was inspired. I think that (the thinky) is what this (the blogging) is for. She says, ending on a preposition.
My dad visiting would be difficult too. I hope the paint helped.
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