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I’ve always written. I still have stories I wrote in elementary school. I hope I still have all my travel journals; they are in Guatemala City getting mildewed right now, but I still hope. Writing was almost always private until fairly recently. Aside from poems, letters, and eulogies that I wrote for friends and family, the rest of it was packed away in my 4 rubbermade containers that I’ve always kept in my parents’ crawlspace.
Now that I’m blogging I find that I’m a little bit stingier with my words, and that’s something I need to work on. Part of it is because of the fact that I am a single parent, and even though I have full custody, and a really comfortable relationship with X3, I am careful about what I share online because I’ve heard that it could all be used against me.
I’m one of those people who have brilliant conversations in my head, hours or days after the actual conversation in which I participated by either nodding or shaking my head. I take too long to process information I guess. In that moment, I am often stricken with vocabulary paralysis, which I blame on a meltdown I had in my 2nd year at University when I was studying 3rd year German, French Literature in French, and Intensive Japanese. Since then I’ve added Spanish to the mix, and there are times when I can’t think of the English word for something.
They say that women need to get their words out in a way that men don’t, and I believe that. I lived with a man who could go days without speaking to me, and look how well that turned out. If I don’t get to hang out with my amazing group of local Mamas, and get my words out, I have to write them down or I will most certainly go bat-shit crazy. It is therapeutic, it is cathartic, and often it would get me in a lot of trouble if I made it public.