I don’t have writer’s block because I don’t have enough to write about. I have writer’s block because I have too much to write about, and I don’t know how to write it.
I’m sitting here trying to decide whether or not to take my dog Danny for his daily walk. He looks forward to his walk so much that I hate to disappoint him. It was misting, and I don’t mind walking in mist, but the mist is turning to a heavier–but not heavy–rain. I do not want to walk in heavy rain. I checked the weather radar and the rain will soon turn to snow. If it’s still early enough, I might take Danny when the rain turns to snow.
I wrote about Gloomy Gus and his strong will in my last post. I actually think that it’s very difficult to be a teenager–strong-willed or not–because they are in a transition time in which they aren’t a child but not yet an adult, reaching for adulthood but still holding on to childhood things, knowing more about life but they haven’t really experienced it yet. It’s hard for parents too, letting go of their little baby. As a Mom, sometimes I want to strangle my son, but most of time I enjoy him immensely.
Anyway, I got to thinking about what I love about my family today.
Another morning. I am the first awake. I’ve gotten the coffee made and the woodstove fire going, and I’m settled on the couch with my laptop and a cup of coffee.
I remember back when there was no such thing as emails, and people wrote letters. Often when I finally received a letter from family or friends, it would say:
This morning I woke up with a sore back, a groggy head, and a grumpy attitude. Not SEVERELY grumpy, but grumpy enough for EJ to ask, “Why are you grumpy?” The grumpy attitude didn’t last very long.
Yesterday was a workday.