Free Write

I want more words, I don't think I have enough words, not enough to describe what I see in my mind's eye. I want to be taken away, swept up in a whirl of passion, a spontaneous moment of ecstasy. But, for people like me, ecstasy is too big of a word, too scary.

But when I write, almost every time I write again, I almost cry.

There's a yearning in my heart, a way out of the mundane of a typical Idaho housewife bigger dreams than she can manage to build into reality. Except, as much as I've studied dreams and goals, it seems to happen best brick by brick. Day by day. 

Word by daring next word.

And I don't want to startle the world with sex and fuck you and other shit like that.

Except, won't people see my scandals, place judgement and move on? Won't they go on and live their lives without me? Won't others who have been on a similar journey like mine see someone like them? 

I know that everyone matters, but they can matter to other people, and we can see what needs done in the world and decide who we are supposed to help. Perhaps we can pray about it, research it, and ask questions.

What small things can I do to help? God, why am I so afraid to help?

I think it's because I've tried to help before and I've been bitten by it too many times.

And so I curl into myself and survive. I heal and raise my daughter and love my husband and I do the dishes like a good little house wife and even that I feel like I fail each day. 

And so I write, because writing is alone, and it's where I can be bold and say fuck you less politely than before. I've been rejected and rejecting for about eight years now, and I'm trying to figure out what accepting looks like for me. 

The things is, I don't want to be tired anymore, and I want to help people, and I want my ducks in a row and I'm not exactly sure that my ducks will ever be in a row, but I want the car window down this fall and my hand to swim through the wind and the breeze swish my hair and I want to cry when feel.

I want to feel, if anything, I want to feel. Dear God, help me feel again, I think you designed me to feel, but sometimes I can't feel anything, and that's okay as long as it's temporary. 

Shit, I'm just stalling, because I want to need to work on my query letter, and I'm afraid, because I feel like a failure in that area too, but how will I succeed if I don't fail? Huh? Huh? lol, because I must be ready to succeed a lot. 

That's why I want words, I want more words, so that I can figure out how to tell and ask and give and take and live and breathe and this is my free write. Thank you for reading this, even if you never do.

it's okay,

jj