Day two: headache. Day four hundred and something: Missed post. I thought it might keep me up all night, missing a day of writing, but this headache is putting me under. I try not to move too much or too fast. Or think too much. But this brain can’t not think. I think of childhood, experiences I love, some I’m ashamed of. I think of amazing relationships I had to walk away from because of my own mental rituals. I think about having more babies and whether I’m truly up for it or if I’m being pulled in by those ruffled diaper covers. You have to admit they’re super cute. There’s a space, a distance between what I want to say and what is actually coming out and if I could just close gap. Or maybe just have a toe on each side. I would blame it on the cold, but I haven’t had an urge to leave the house. Well I do suggest it to myself and I reply to myself, “yeah that’s a great idea that’s what I’ll do.” But it’s the same as when someone who isn’t me suggests something and to be cordial I agree. And with much enthusiasm. In the moment I truly do agree, but when that person is long gone I’ll only write and crawl back under the covers. Because there’s not much else I would want to do. And I have no shame of it.