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My Story

I began my childhood a hopeless romantic.

Listening to Mariah Carey’s “Music Box” and SWV’s “Weak in the Knees” and slow dancing the night away.

In my room. Alone. With a bulky, cold, unloving dresser to hold tight to as I swayed back and forth.

If it sounds strange and homeschool-y, it is because it is.

 

 

I am now in my mid-thirties and I have evolved into something I am not sure that I love.

 

So, back to the drawing board I go.

Writing and trying to recover the theme that is woven throughout my story.

Hope.

The little flame that flickered through every season feels a weeeeee bit snuffed out.

Like a toddler going to bed without his blankie, I feel desperate to find the thing that brings me comfort.

I need my damn blankie, man.

{that blankie is hope, in case I lost you. I feel like I lost you, did I lose you? It’s tough, because I have little kids now and my vocabulary has morphed into double syllable words that all seem to rhyme}