A post so bad I can’t even think of a title.

I guess if you take my overly-serious “I-really-thought-this-blog-would-be-cooler-and-more-introspective” tagline at face value, nothing has been going on in my head the past three months. “Inner monologue of an avid thinker.” I don’t know, maybe I just ran out of time to think. That’s a real possibility. Let’s re-title it, “Occasional verbal vomit of an over-wired spaz – don’t get your hopes up.”

Do you ever get so busy and overwhelmed that when you suddenly have unexpected time to do kind of whatever you end up feeling bored and restless at the same time?  It’s almost like my mind is addicted to focusing on too many things at once and it no longer knows how to do just one thing at a time or, Heaven-forbid, nothing. I can’t remember when I last allowed myself to actually have “nothing” going on in my head. I blame my iPhone.

Believe it or not, I actually journal every day. It’s a prayer journal, not a diary, but truthfully I process everything better when I write it down. Even my prayers. Even my arguments (ask Jeremy). I take notes on things I know I wont forget because I won’t fully “hear” it until I read it. I once wrote a heart-wrenching letter to someone I loved and they called me on not having the guts to say it face-to-face, which was true. But I genuinely didn’t know what I wanted to say until I wrote it. I broke up with Jeremy when we were dating a decade ago through a letter that he read in my presence. Sometimes I think I’m a writer with no time to write.

Almost any time I have a profound thought or a challenging conversation the first thing I want to do is blog about it, and the second thing I want to do is analyze my motivation for blogging about it. Sometimes I get jealous of other people’s blogs. Sometimes I get inspired by them. I generally like my writing self better than my actual self and sometimes I stay up too late re-reading past posts and wake up feeling really tired and embarrassed and self-absorbed (probably because I am really tired and embarrassed and self-absorbed).

Want a list of things I’ve wanted to write about the past three months?

  • Vacation
  • Stuff that annoys me
  • Saying no to things you want
  • Anger and control
  • My sister’s wedding
  • The death penalty
  • Politics and Christianity
  • Funny stuff my kids say
  • Halloween
  • Malachi’s new shoes
  • A million other things that are looong gone.

And here I am writing about not writing. I’m sure you’re enthralled. Have some pictures.

ferris wheel KK beach wedding costumeselsa


[Insert Title Here]

I love to write.  I used to write poetry all the time.  I have about 10 notebooks full of poetry upstairs somewhere.  Sometimes I love to sit and read my past.  Sometimes I’m too afraid to open the cover.  Some of those poems bring back memories so strong I can taste it.  Not just memories of what was happening, but memories of what I was feeling.  That’s the difference between a journal entry and a poem – every poem I’ve written is a piece of my heart.

I haven’t written much poetry in the last 10 or so years.  It saddens me, because I love to write.  I guess the good thing about growing up and “settling down” is that there aren’t so many earth-shattering events and emotions to inspire me.  The emotions I have now are so much less violent, but also so much deeper.  I want to write poetry again, but I’m not even sure where to start.

About a year ago, however, I had a brief flash of “Write it down, write it down NOW!” that any poet could tell you they would understand.  But I always get stuck on titles.  So, if you have a suggestion on a title, leave it below.  I may or may not use it.  =)

Nostalgia is a dangerous game:
The seed of comparison that breeds discontent
Clinging to the heat of a dying flame,
a broken heart wonders where the pieces went

When what was is no longer, hope finds itself
dreaming instead of what could have been
Seeing the road to a deep, empty well
as a path untaken and Heaven-sent

Yet clear, true memory of a former time
is the anchor to hold to when doubting the now
The past should be hope, should be strength, should be life
Not an alter of memory on which to bow

Past futures are over, old seasons are gone
The moments once dreamed of are passing too fast
But what seems to have perished does, in us, live on
The future is shaped by the days we’ve amassed

And when tears and regrets, both of truth and of wish
threaten to bruise and to bloody the soul
One truth everlasting, despite all that’s missed
Says the future is promise, waiting and whole