Listen. Here’s the thing. I know I’m supposed to be writing something super poignant. A retrospect of 2021. All the books I read. The struggles and challenges and victories I’ve had.

But I can’t get my brain to focus.

I have started, stopped, erased, amd started this blog four times now. All because I couldn’t focus.

I also can’t remember a lot of this year. I really have to try and think

I remember Bunny’s birthday. There were clowns. Shortly after, Bunny announced they were Trans and was a boy. Since then, they’ve bounced around the gender spectrum. Bunny is currently they/them/she/her.

I remember our trip to Branson. It was disastrous. I remember the ice storm that caused so much trouble for us at work. I remember 4th of July and T Rex’s first day of 2nd grade. I remember HayHay’s car accident and the 14 hours we spent in the ER.

It took me a minute but I remember going to the eye doctor and finding I have an ulcerated cornea. Which is exactly what Lucy Loo has. And glaucoma. Lucy. Not me.

I remember going to the shelter and adopting MiraJane. And wanting to take all the kitties home.

I remember Amazon canceling me and removing all my books from their catalog.

And that’s it. I really can’t understand why I don’t have more. I mean a whole year has passed and all I have is a handful of memories. And not all of them are good.

I hate my Swiss cheese brain. I hate my crumbly Bleu cheese brain.

But maybe that’s why i write. To remember. To have more than just pictures. Because pictures only tell so much of the event. When I write I try to add all the senses. You know, show don’t tell.

So maybe I finally got my brain to come together. And maybe now I have a plan.

See. I’ve been agonizing over the direction of this blog. I love books. But it seems you all like my mom posts, specifically mom rants and vents, much more.

I think I’ll be using this as a journal or diary of sorts. I want to take pictures, of me, my family, our lives. I want to document it all. Because it’s all slipping away. Bunny is 18. HayHay is 17. T Rex is 8. And I’m 44.

I’ll still post books I’ve read. But I think I’m going to steer back to my home port of mom life and mental health.

And I hope you all stick with me during this.

Thank you for being with me this long.


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