ive had some mean writers block lately. the kind where even writing a paragraph entry in my journal is a strain and that’s not even creative!
i decided i needed to sit and stare at this blank white “edit post” page until something just came out, even if i have to squeeze it out, violently like i used to do to the nintendo controller when a fireball hit me on mario.
ive come to a few conclusions this week, just simple observations of my life that have opened little tiny windows inside me. i think that your whole life is made up of those fresh air moments. the little seconds when you realize what this whole mess of a world is all about. this really weird thing called “life”.
i decided that every morning we all wake up and we dont even think about how STRANGE it all is. we rarely sit up in our plush sleeping plank and just look at our hands, our skin, our sleeping spouse and think… WTF. but i do that sometimes, because seriously, WTFreak… we are alive. does that even process; usually not. but on those days it does i just look at my little rue cat with her super soft gray fur and addictive pur (not trying to rhyme) and think… she has a beating heart and she needs me to live and someday she will cease to breath
and i will cry, because her “life” is gone. and hopefully all cats go to heaven
oh and besides that. what about flour? im standing on our freezing gray (but its supposed to be white) tile making pot stickers yesterday, that makes me sound fancy but really we just had leftover pork that would only taste delicious fried in dough, and im sifting flour and it just looks so perfect. like tiny, fluffy angel pillows. and in a 2 year old moment i reached inside the bowl and let my fingers run through it; and i loved it. i loved every single grain. i just love this life
it is so precious and fast. right now the sun is shining outside in a way that if you hold really still the utah frigid breeze wont stand a chance against its rays and you can just soak it in. and tonight parker and i are going to build and tape cardboard boxes into holders of things, of memories and yesterday and move them all somewhere else
boxes remind me of my childhood, i think ive lived in 20+ houses. the funny thing is i dont remember any of them really. i remember the life that went on inside them
i remember hiding all my toys under a giant blanket when asked to clean my room. i remember forts that had no end and stuffed animals that could talk. i remember white covergirl eyeliner and learning to shave, oh and the smell of aussie hairspray. i remember my mom making “mexican soup” and little corn tortillas fried with cheese. i remember scaring my little sister into tears just so i could rock her better. . .
lifes a big mess of things and goals, but i think when we look back we will remember one thing- that we were alive