it’s been at least a week since i’ve scribbled a series of almost meaningless words into my tattered notebooks and called them “morning pages” despite often completing the exercise in the afternoon. so when i made my way to the space on the couch that’s given way to the weight and shape of my body over the years, i grabbed the spiraled treasure and promised myself i’d fill at least one page at some point before dinner.

and yet when the time came, i reached for it only to realize i had moved my favorite fun pens to a mysterious location in an attempt to hide them from a trio of toddlers. they, anyway, had other things to entertain themselves, and i, somehow, ended up without my most essential tool for the task.

as i began to negotiate solutions for myself — crayons, an unsharpened pencil, a simple yet reliable bold point pen — i suddenly felt tempted to reach for the one tool i haven’t touched in ages: my laptop.

i found myself craving the sound of the keys clinking down with their own rhythm. the way the act of typing feels like i’m playing a piano — my password itself so long it is like a symphony. 

i’ve been feeling this craving of a return to the machine bubbling slowly and subtly for some time now. perhaps it’s related to a story that i feel is ready to flow out of me (but those usually prefer the quieter scratches of markings against paper). maybe it’s some kind of delayed whiplash from rereading once-upon-a-time musings recently (although part of me feels so far removed from the person who wrote them, that i kinda envy her writing style a little). or likely, it’s the freedom from having the space to lay back ever so slightly and create without any self imposed pressure.

and while there are so many ways i’ve felt the pressure release lately, i think the one that makes me gravitate back towards this space here and now, is the fact that i’m likely only talking to myself.

i don’t know if blogs have completely died off as the digital world microdoses content, or if there’s a handful of them hanging on to the few people who still enjoy reading them. but i’ve left this one unattended for so long, that i’m going to assume the few people who had subscribed nearly a decade ago, have likely changed their email addresses, or even more likely, stopped checking their email all together.

if you’re an exception to that assumption, hello. you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. but tread quietly please. there’s no need to tell me you’re here. actually, i’d prefer it if you don’t. it’ll be our way of time traveling back to the days of internet(s) past, where everything was instant but also a little bit slower. and a lot calmer.