The days have been nice. Hot still, but the small breezes help and at least it is no longer 105 degrees and physically/mentally draining to walk outside. We’ve been leaving the house to my parents and driving throughout town, playing Scrabble at our favorite coffee house or getting a few drinks at The Belmont. Running in sprinklers at the golf
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I write so little when I am happy. It’s almost as if my mind and body cannot comprehend being happy and so I begin to focus more on the inside, on what is hidden, on what needs to be buried. But what about the moments of magic? Why should they go unwritten? I have had so little to say, and haven't felt the need to bring up a blank word document or even take out my faithful Moleskine to record it all. I need to reprogram my mind and my hand, train myself to etch it into memory and paper, so that I can have something to fall back on during my bouts of sadness.
once again, your writings echo my own thoughts. I look back at all my paper journals and i have mostly words of sadness written on those pages. I guess we're too busy enjoying the moments of happiness to sit down and write about them, but we should. I want to train myself to do that too.
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