Ernest, 4 years, loves Chevy Bumblebee SS.
He can point one out a mile away.
There’s nothing that lifts me up more then scratching my pen across paper. And it’s even better when the words that spill from my fingers contribute to a current story.
Why I deny it baffles me. Why I deny myself the relief it brings me confuses me.
But I forced myself to focus. Forget all the nasty dark that surrounds me for just a couple of hours. And I felt wonderful.
I won’t deny what calls to my soul anymore. I won’t let the storms outside quiet the storm inside me.
I’m bringing my writing back. Watch out.
I used to think men were emotionless sacks of flesh until recently.
Not a feminist by any definition, by the way. Just a woman that grew up and surrounded herself by a certain type of male that is incapable of having drive, passion and any non rational way of showing emotion.
These last couple of years I was proven wrong. Getting reacquainted with old friends and enjoying conversations with a person that I think of as my brother has proven to me that men have emotion. And can express it. Not afraid to show tears. Let their passion pour. Have a drive for what they want that they are relentless.
I will never take a man like that for granted.
I want my son to be like that. He is like that at his young 4 years. I just need to encourage and teach him to keep it.