The word is in between and I'm pretty sure Lisa Jo peered into my soul and pulled it out of there. That's exactly how I've been feeling lately, in between. I'm struggling to write, and as a writer, that's never good. I've been soaking up the toddler time, but feeling incomplete in all the ways I wish I were whole. The stack of unwritten things threatens to reveal all of my secrets.
I'm afraid of who I am not. I'm afraid that the person I want to be will stay locked in me forever. I'm afraid that the only book I will finish will be the one that burned, written in Ticonderago number two pencil in two spiral notebooks. They sat on my shelf in the back of my mind until they didn't and when I sifted through the ashes to find them they were gone, words and dust.
I'm in between and I wish I knew how to pick a side, to Hamlet myself out of this slump and into being or not. The thick summer air lays me down hard and I can't seem to get up. I wish someone would just tell me all the things I need to do and patch the holes in my heart and fill the cracks in my walls. But the Beatles say it so much better than I and time is running thin.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Good night lovelies, and God bless.