Cooped Up

I've had a writer's block lately because honestly, I feel a bit post-partumy and I'm afraid of publishing my thoughts and feelings in case they are incriminating. But then, when I was hanging out at Christy's, eating her Kraft Dinner and leaking breast milk on her couch, she reminded me of how she loves to read my writing because it's real. Some people buy new furniture and keep the plastic wrap on their lampshades and I say fuck that! Rip it off and shine those lights all over the damn house because whatever we've poured our hearts and minds and souls into are contained within those four walls and that stuff needs to be lit up.

But then. But then I was having coffee and muffins with my aunt and uncle and they helped me realize that maybe I don't need to write about everything that is happening right now, that maybe I can write about it later. Like, later later. When I'm not IN it. Because have you ever bought one of those rotisserie chickens that they make in the store? It always smells like fart. Right? It stinks up the cashier area, it reeks up the minivan, and turns the fridge into a burp. But later on, once you cut up the chicken and incorporate it into a dish of some sort, it becomes quite un-fart-like, if you aren't a complete donkey in the kitchen.

My days can be unglamorous at best. Today? Today smelled like fart. Do I need to write about it? Probably not. But will I be able to help and encourage someone else one day when I can look back and remember what I went through? Hopefully, yes. Because that's what this life is all about: eating Kraft Dinner and leaking breast milk and drinking coffee with the people we love, because love has a way of turning stinky chicken into a satisfying meal.