i think my entire life has been on hold for the past 58 or so weeks. that’s a really long time. so much has happened … most of which i still can’t process completely. but i need an outlet. i need a place to write. i’m tired of treading water. it’s exhausting thinking tomorrow is the day that the puzzle pieces are finally going to fit together without me forcing them.

it’s time to write a book. but which one? what idea wins? ugh. i guess the children’s book is a fine place to start … there’s way less bleeding required for that one … but i just can’t find the focus. my brain jumps from one thing to the next … out of control; nothing is in sync.

was Hemingway correct? do i just sit here, at my modern day “typewriter” and bleed? what if i can’t stop bleeding? then what? will i know when enough is enough?

children’s book aside, there is a story inside of me that is desperate to come out. it’s time. it’s beyond time. but i’m seriously afraid of how much it’s going to hurt to bleed that much … maybe it won’t be as bad as i think it’s going to be. maybe.