Journals within 

I’ve been trying to write a journal about the current state of things. But too many people read my blog now. I will inevitably get the text message “I read your blog.” I will get the comment “oh this is going to be a blog post, I just know”. Or the one “God, why haven’t you blogged? Its been forever.” 
I could easily write a post called the morcellator. But it consists of my uterus come out of my belly button in ribbons and then a whole bunch of pain. 
I could write about how my child is moving out and I feel like she isn’t ready or maybe I’m not ready. 
I could write about my relationship and how great it is… Except the part where our kinks don’t match up or the part where he’s antisocial or the part where I’m a bitch. But really, why? 
I could write about yet another cancer scare that turned out to be nothing. But really I’m just tired of writing about my medical stuff. 
I could write about being fat, depressed, and scared in this life I carved out. But its my own fault. 
I could write about timing and losing time. I could write about Boo.  He’s been gone a year already. 

Maybe I’ll write again at some point as if no one is reading. But not today. 
Today I’m tired. 


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