The boys school their younger brother about Kid Jail. "Yeah, Juvie, yeah, see." "They make you eat really gross food."
"I heard you have to eat chili every day."
I place a threat with my eyes. If you throw another paper airplane at my neck I swear I'm going Google the closest kid jail, dude.
And what is it with little boys and the incessant need to hit their mom on the butt?
I got my bloodwork results back a few days ago and they were normal.
This is where I write a bunch of serious things about how I'm doing and what I'm feeling and about treatment and my faith, about being broken while pretending not to be (and however then could I -we- be fixed when we do that), but then I cut and pasted it somewhere for maybe later, because I just can't go there right now.
What if I look foolish, what if I misrepresent, for saying what I said. But if I can't write the truth about my life
I will not write at all.
Maybe later when I'm ready.
Lately I've been wishing for more than what we have here. For the first time I'm antsy, not as content as I've always been in this tiny house this town. I need more space, more rooms, more places to put stuff.
With a view.
I want windows lots of windows and a breathtaking view. Out in the country. Trees, or at least one, you know the one that reaches with hands and shades and gives you something to write about. Something to look at, sky anything. But a good drive will do, for now, we don't have to go far, we pass trees and beach and stretch and land and then we are back home to here
and it really is more than okay.
linked up - just write