I have nothing to write and that bothers me. I feel so drained.
I want to write more. I couldn’t tell you the number of times I’ve sat at the computer and stared at a blank blog box…or a blank virtual sheet of paper waiting for an essay to be wrenched forth. (I wish I had a dollar…) Lately, I haven’t had energy to do anything. It’s not that I’m tired…I think it’s emotional energy. On Sunday, after getting out of the shower, I sat on the side of the bathtub for half an hour in a towel because I lacked the motivation to go put clothes on. I didn’t ever want to be like this again – that dark well bubbling up and over again while I’m pulling the happy curtains around it so that people don’t see me frantically piling on the sand bags. I discovered today someone is intentionally trying to mess with my heart. This draws out a variety of responses from me. First, I’m stinking pissed. Not only at him, but at myself for letting it happen. I’m angry – very angry. Unexpressably angry. Second, I feel stupid. I feel like I got used…like I am a big joke. I feel like someone gracefully led me up on display and then dumped mud on me so they could point and laugh. And I’m in the mood to fling a little mud myself. Mud with big pointy rocks in it.

This is in direct contrast to another interaction I had today. There is a person in my life who is an anchor. Not in a romantic way, I don’t think, but they are so dependable and so encouraging that every time we talk I feel blessed. I feel sheltered and protected. Not confident, cuz I’m still scared, but supported and appreciated. And that means a lot.

I don’t really know where all this came from. But there it is. I don’t have anything to write about, remember?

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