Choking

It is a little piece of you that I know, but don't know, but think about, and then it all makes sense and I love it,

and you.

I hope my sister doesn’t kill me for quoting her.

I’ve had this blog for a couple years. Prior to this month, only a meager handful of writings made their way into the cyber world. Those writings were mostly results of crazy, weird days. The kinds of days that make you want to talk really, really fast about. Chances are I couldn’t get anyone on the line to tell anyone … so I wrote about them, somewhat discombobulatedly (I like it, don’t judge my word invention).

I took to the old school variety of pen and pad for a few trips and realized how much I missed words. My college education was words. I was good at words. I wondered if I still was. Travel seemed easy to write about, especially independent travel where my only company was the pen itself. But now my trips are done … so I am left with everyday nothingness that I am trying to make into something.

The point is, when I started writing routinely I received the e-mail above from my sister. With every posting I put up on this silly, unread site … I think about that e-mail. In a way, it was one of the nicest things anyone has said to me. I remember getting a little choked up when I read it and every once and while I go back to it to choke again. There is something about exposing yourself and hearing something like that when you’re standing there stripped. I learned that somehow this thing that matters to me matters to someone else. Weird.

I’m choking (I’ll play it off as on my own spit, that’s more my style).

Love you, Bri.