This writing life is more full of life than writing.
The last few days have been mostly dramatic. Parenting is not for the meek and weak. Parenting teens requires only the bravest of soldiers. And when a crisis rises to the surface, every other corner of life is placed in the holding pattern.
So I did not write Friday or Saturday or Sunday.
Not writing feels like not breathing for me.
But there was only so much room in which to operate my life. So here I am. First thing Monday and almost wearing an oxygen mask to get to my manuscript and, yes…finally write.
Best lines this morning: “She pulls on her sports bra, mashing her breasts against her chest, a reminder that Zach is feeding with a tube instead of through her. She pulls on a sweatshirt two sizes too big and leaves the leftover make up in tact. Her skin around her belly is loose and hangs over the band of her pants. Normally, this would bother her, but she doesn’t have time to worry about feeling fat right now.”
Water = nil.
Core strength = a bit.
Sleep = a pinch.
Family Adventures = pends on how I define “adventures” this week.