I’ve been cheating on you. I’ve been cheating on you, the reader, with my journal. I look at my blog, my personal space online, and it’s a little dusty. A post here, a post there, weeks in between. It’s not for lack of interest. It’s not for lack of interesting stories. It’s been a lack of time, energy, focus.
There are days when I don’t even open my computer, so in no way can I justify getting a new MacBook right now. But an iPad has been on my mind. But the logical Bri says “you don’t want anything bigger than your phone screen when you get home”. And she’s right, as usual.
As much as I haven’t written for “the publics” as my papa would say, I’ve thirsted for words. To read them. To write them. To hear them spoken properly. To hear them at the right time. They help me to make sense of the nonsensical. They escape me, then they call me right back.
Overstimulated. My brain has been on absolute overload lately. A lot to remember, process, consider, forget. 80% work related. 20% personal. I feel like I use up most of my words at work, either by email, phone, or explaining stuff to folks at my desk. I have a line at my desk guys. Everyday. I need a waiting room in my cubicle, a secretary screening my calls, an assistant responding to my emails. Just so I can have some words leftover for you.
I numb myself with my personal vices. Cherry limeades. Ratchet TV. Apple Music playlists. Bluebell Ice Cream (it’s back yall!). Neighbor-disturbing cackles at memes and videos. Saturday naps. Marco’s Pizza. Maybe numb isn’t the word (see, I’m getting rusty) because these things actually make me feel good.
I’ve gotten little rest and lots of stress. Enough gray hairs in the front that I’m considering streaking it legit like Rogue. I’ve had a few dates. I’ve talked to a couple exes. I’ve gotten older! A whole year older! I’ve cooked. I’ve cleaned. I’ve cried. I’ve danced. I’ve killed crickets. I’ve ate a $70 steak. Life has been lifing.