Do you ever find your body pulling you in one direction while your mind tugs you in another? I often wrestle with conflicting desires: one part of me wanted my phone when writing tonight, while the other insisted, “No distractions, just you and the blank page.” Even as I settled in, with one knee drawn close to my chest and a barefooted leg propped up on a pink throw blanket, the knee-jerk thought inevitably arose: “Where’s my phone?”
It’s the security blanket I can’t do without!
This is my final moment of respite before bedtime. I broke a metaphorical piece of bread with my better half in the way of choice: “Book and play, or toothbrush, pajamas, and bedtime?” His face broke into a small Cheshire grin, and he chose “Book and play.” So here I sit, with thirty minutes all to myself before my bedtime duties with my daughter begin.
Today, I managed to watch Michael J. Fox’s “Still” on Apple TV. To my pleasant surprise, it was touching and genuine, far better than I expected.
My thoughts seem tangled like junk food stuck in the bottom of a disposal. Insecurity and fear mixed with optimism and silliness. “I don’t want to” are intertwined with “Let’s do everything,” as it all dances alongside “Why me?” The mental churn of the motor, the act of listing the pieces of excess has sharpened the edge of my clarity, but still, I’m somewhat stuck.
The steps and costs involved in making a move to Georgia are massive. The more I contemplate, the more zeros get added, the more I want to stay put and bury my head in the sand. I misspoke the other day when I told Dave to allocate an extra $5,000 for any changes or updates we make to the house plan; it’s actually $10,000. Water versus well, gas versus electric, crawl space versus slab – every decision adds another zero.
Money concerns weigh on me, while Dave deals with the stress of navigating through the labyrinth of decisions. Both of us are feeling the strain.
Time flies; I’ve got only fifteen more minutes.
I’d love to share my first attempt at making whoopie pies, but the white powder scattered across the floor and the smoke alarm’s sudden wail tell the story. Just to clarify, the alarm was triggered by cheese dripping from the burgers earlier, and the flour mess is Evelyn’s not-so-perfect attempt at sifting.
So there were no actual mishaps, and they turned out pretty good. If you’re unfamiliar with whoopie pies, think of them as Oreos on steroids, with a more cake-like chocolate top and bottom.
I first tasted them in Maine, with a family I met while camping alone over Memorial Day weekend. They embraced me as their own, sharing their food and campfire during our two nights as campsite buddies.
Earlier, I worried about my role as a blogger. From a particular perspective, I saw myself as a nauseating whiner that no one in their right mind would want to read.
Last week, I sent a birthday video message to my good friend Reid, expressing my well-wishes and gratitude for his acceptance of me. I shared how his friendship has allowed me to grow and gain confidence in myself. His response was heartening, mentioning that he felt similarly during his recent 50-year high school reunion, where people perceived him more positively than he perceived himself. I hope the same holds true for me.
As I near the end of my half-hour session, I sense that whatever was blocking my thoughts has now shifted. My fingers can hardly keep up with the pace of my mind.
I’m grateful for the opportunity to vent, share, and connect here. It truly brightens and enriches my day, and I hope it does the same for you.
I’ll be back here tomorrow. Until then, take care.
With love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 