I have a love-hate relationship with writing.
I love writing
And I hate writing.
See, it's simple.
I especially hate writing when I feel like I have something worth saying. The words get caught in my cerebral cortex and have a hard time making their way out in a cohesive manner.
I blame society.
Diagnosis: mental constipation.
Apparently I suffer from mental diarrhea when I have nothing important to say, though.
I'm sorry Mom, I just typed diarrhea. Again.
Die-ma-rina. That's what we used to call it, right?
Actually, I blame the pregnancy.
Well, not active pregnancy. Goodness knows that ship has long sailed. More the result of hundreds of thousands of brain cells lost through the ravages of being pregnant for 45 months of my life.
I don't think I'll ever recover.
Yet I choose to educate these children myself.
That's what you call smart. S-m-r-t.
Or maybe I'm just tired.