Percolating.

Friends and lovies keep asking why I am not blogging.

Good question. Since my dad died, I cannot write. Cannot write a single sentence without immense effort. Effort like I am trying to write a computer program for Mr. Gilger's Computer Science class for my final grade. Without Pancho writing it for me....

I choose to think of it as percolating. My thoughts and observations are slowly becoming active, gradually becoming lively. That, or I am about to hit a midlife crisis. Head Frikking on. Whatever.

This is the face of Percolation. Or skyping with my monkey. Pick one.
Change is afoot, buttercups. Not sure what this change stuff is, but change is afoot. 

Peace and percolating and love and vulnerability. XOXO

Comments

  1. I come by often to check in on your words. I'm sorry for your loss. When my Dad died, the first thing I did (okay, maybe third) was sit down and write it out. And I kept doing it. And then how I wrote and how I lived and how I loved all changed.

    Percolating is just the word for it. A good word.

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