The happenings of a beach based mama

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Back and blogging?

I want to get back into the swing of blogging again. I wrestle with it though. I sit down to write and just stare at the blinking line, it taunts me, "type type type" I feel guilty leaving it waiting. "I should" I tell myself. It's 5am, my favorite time of day. Silence. I just need some coffee, I try to convince myself even though I know I won't get a blog up. But still, I make the coffee, curl up in my dads old shirt that I claimed for PJs, sip and stare at the blinking line some more. I'm frustrated. I literally feel nothing. I'm at peace. I'm ok with it. Some times I wonder, it's it peace I feel or am I just numb. What are my opinions? I don't know. I don't have one ducking clue. My words don't seem worthy of being documented anymore. As if I had shut myself off to the adult conversation world enough before, my new job was really shutting that down for me now. I don't remember the last time I sat and had a conversation with an adult, about adult things that didn't directly revert to one or all of the kids. Months. Literally months. I go to bed before the sun has set, or as early as possible. I wake up at 5am everyday, to NOT talk to anyone. What would I have an opinion about? Half the time I can't even tell you the day of the week it is. I don't want to blog about kids. I don't want to think about kids. I love the peace and ease I feel lately but I miss any kind of depth. I don't know really know anything about myself. Maybe because I don't have classes for a month, I feel like kids are takin over. I'm not sure. I shut my computer and give up on blogging. It's depressing, reflecting on yourself and feelings and realizing there isn't much there. Fuck it. Here's my blog. No catch up, no details. Who the hell knows what I will write about.

Monday, April 18, 2016

Babies

Sunday, November 29, 2015

Little

Jaid has never acted her age. Her burden is heavy, her soul is old. She makes it easy to forget she's barely 7. I need to remember she's barely 7. She's little. And me, I'm literally everything to her. The pressure itself mounts. Our bond is tight but sometimes I can't help but feel like I'm being drowned sometimes. It was easier with a 2nd parent. Her happiness didn't solely rely on what I did or did not provide emotionally, there was another person filling the cup. That grip was a little more loose on me and I didn't feel as strangled to death. She's barely 7. Her life shouldn't be this rough. She shouldn't have to hold so much together. Her
weight is already more than most adults. She makes so easy to forget she's so little.