i want to write, but i don’t know what to write about. i could write about the amazing things i have done over the past couple of days, the wonderful feelings i have had after seeing old friends, experiencing new things and being so comfortable here. i could write about the stupid things like running out of money and watching my first turkey get stuffed. i could write about anything, really.
but i don’t want to.
there is nothing making me write. i think it’s because i am happy. things are filling me up. feelings, i guess. so that i don’t feel the need to write about them to the extent that it becomes a database of memories and therapy sessions and emotional expression. but i still want to write.
of course i do. it’s me. it’s scrapbooking. it’s documenting.
as much as i don’t want to write about what i’ve been doing and seeing and experiencing, i can’t leave out how amazing it was to be in dc. seriously. humbling, historical, beautiful, full. full of information and secrets and stories. oh to be a fly on the wall.
i’m tired. too tired to sleep. too tired to write. so i’ll wrap myself up in flannelette sheets and appreciate the comfort and feeling and love i have for everything tonight.