*If you’ve been reading this blog for a bit, you know I’ve been journaling. I’ve always considered my journal my private thoughts and keep it hidden away in ever changing secret spots around the house. Even my journal has been neglected as has this blog of late. Life has been a bit overwhelming. My husband is on hospice and my emotions have been raw, making me a little bit too on the blunt side. Anyhow, I’m breaking rules today…I’m sharing an entry from my journal and I’m being maybe too personal.*
Written in my journal last night…there’s so much it doesn’t say, but it’s a beginning…
I could leave this page blank again. It’s been so long since I’ve written in this journal, not because I have nothing to say, quite the opposite. I have too many things to say, things too hard, and don’t really know how to put them into words.
I don’t have writer’s block. I have a lack of willingness to confront. Writing tends to make me deal with things head on and it’s painful. Right now all I see is the hot stove and I’m not willing to touch it, or in this case, pick up the pen.
The words of wisdom from the writing world, to “write through the pain” and “writing helps to process things”, do little to urge me on. I want to resist and drag myself kicking and screaming all the way. I’m turning into one of the world’s most productive procrastinators on mostly good days. On bad days, sleep is my only desire.
Keeping my hands busy distracts my mind from thoughts I’d rather not think. My purse is clean and organized for the third time this week. The checking account is more balanced than it’s been in my life. I clean and cook to exhaustion. On the plus side, I’ve learned to excel at making homemade bread and almost every cabinet has been decluttered, cleaned, and organized. All things I do while he sleeps.
Most of my efforts should be creating a cozy haven that home should be, however, my endeavors feel fruitless. When saying goodbye to someone and a life I’ve known for almost a quarter of a century, I’ve yet to discover what to do or the words to say. I continue on the best I can in a facade of normalcy.
Often I look out the windows at the trees or the plants right out the front door. For some reason, I’ve been insistent on growing some kind of garden this year. Originally, the plan was to get the small garden spot tilled, then I thought it impractical. I’ve decided on container gardening out the front door, which can be tended in a few spare moments a day. It’s not the fresh produce I long for I think, but rather an in-front of my face reminder life does go on.