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I can’t escape it, the pressing need to write. It haunts my head as I narrate my own life. I’ve always done this, as long as I can remember, and I wonder what other people think who don’t feel like a character in a lifelong novel.
source: Scott McCracken
“It’s still a billion degrees outside, but she sits anyway, watching the couple on a tandem bike ride by two, three times, as they attempt to navigate a folded-out map. The people-watching is worth the intense, muggy heat. Even this close to the ocean, no breeze eases the intensity of the Southern humidity.
“Without children to mind and care for, her brain only gravitates toward reading and writing and prayer. And let’s face it, the prayers don’t seem as close to her lips when she’s not buried under the parenting pressure. What did they do, she wonders, before kids? But the children, they do bring God closer and increase the need of Him, it seems. ‘Multiply,’ He said, and she thinks maybe this is why.
“The crickets – tree frogs? – are a soft hum of noise, and she tries, hard, to convince herself to let out a deep breath and relax. It seems relaxation does not come as easy as it once did.”
There’s your dip for today into my thought-life. I’m on an island with just my husband, tucked away in a cottage, to enjoy a few days celebrating our 10th anniversary this summer. It’s strange and blissful and I’m trying not to worry about the kids.