Sometimes I forget y’all are here, reading.

I guess that’s good. Recommended, even, if Bird by Bird is to be believed.

(Bird by Bird is always to be believed, is what I’ve learned)

I go days, weeks, one time a full month without posting jack shit. Then I have something to say that’s been sitting uncomfortable in the gut. My fingers twitch on the keys, and then type. I type every single one of these posts all at once. Every time I have stopped and walked away for a moment, I’ve never come back.

I hit post because that’s how you close this journal. I try to remember to tag things, because part of me remembers, at this point, that it is not a journal. It’s not recommended to stay here, though. It’s not good to stop pretending, yet.

Ordinarily, it is 2am.

I post, and then I write something else, something with more plot than my life and my wonderings about it. I read, or I watch trash television. Occasionally, I will go back to sleep.

These minutes are rare, though. These hours before the children and the husband wake up and I become what is needed of me, rather than what I need. More often than not, I stay awake like my soul is still eating. Like there’s still more, and thank god, cuz I’m starving.

Then, eventually, I check my phone. And a bunch of motherfuckers from India have liked my post.

The other side of the world, the people who should be awake, read and liked it. Sometimes I get comments. Frozen, I am amazed, awed that I have said something to you from so far away. Fucking stricken, and frankly embarrassed, that this is what I’ve said.

Wouldn’t you prefer I edit a bit more?