Just me, my computer, and my coffee against the world. Some days, that’s exactly what writing feels like, a quiet standoff where the only noise is keys clicking and my thoughts finally lining up.
Writing, in many ways, is easier than talking. On the page, I’m allowed to pause. I can sit with a thought, turn it over, and decide how I really want it to sound before letting it exist. I can rewrite a sentence five times, delete it entirely, or scrap the whole thing and start over without anyone noticing. There’s no pressure to get it right on the first try. Writing gives me space to breathe.
Talking, on the other hand, is hard. Talking demands speed. My brain has to generate ideas, find the right words, and assemble them in real time, no pauses, no rewinds, no backspace key. By the time I’ve figured out what I want to say, the moment has often already passed.
Writing doesn’t play by those rules. Sometimes the words spill out at lightning speed, as if they’ve been waiting patiently for their turn. Other times, one single paragraph can take half an hour, with me staring at the screen, rearranging thoughts, trying to make sense of what’s floating around in my head. Both are valid. Both are part of the process.
So for now, it’s just me, my computer, and my coffee, taking our time, choosing our words carefully, and letting the thoughts arrive when they’re ready.
I say this because it can sometimes feel like I’m two different people: the one you meet in person and the one you meet on the page. I don’t always speak the way I write. Writing gives me time, time to sit with a thought, to move it around, to soften it, to expand it, to make sense of it. A single post can take all day. I write a little in the morning, come back to it in the afternoon, then read it again before I finally hit “post.”
Sometimes my brain is overflowing, and the words pour out in an hour. Other times, I’m carefully shaping thoughts, stretching them, filling in the empty spaces so they say what I actually mean. Writing lets me do that. Talking doesn’t. When I talk, everything that’s happening in my head gets compressed into the shortest possible version, quick, clipped sentences that never quite capture the whole picture.
I’m just not that great at talking. My mind moves faster than my mouth, and somewhere in between, things get lost. But I’m trying. I really am. And even when it’s awkward or imperfect, I’m going to keep trying.
Now I’m going to turn the tables and talk about today. There’s really nothing going on except studying. I’ve got some music playing in the background, 80s hits, while I get my things together and try to ease into it.
I keep a physical journal where I like to add pictures and little bits of ephemera. Of course, I ran out of sticker paper yesterday, because that’s always how it goes. I need to get more soon. I still have plenty of photos on my phone that I want to print. I do write a little in this journal, but I mostly let the pictures tell the story. And it’s not something I use every day, more of a “when the moment feels right” kind of journal.
I tried to read last night while Tommy was sleeping on the couch, but there was a video playing where someone was ranking different anime. It was hard to focus on a book with that going on, so I gave up and played Animal Crossing instead while half-watching the video. I’m hoping to get some actual reading done today, maybe after I finish studying this afternoon and before Tommy and Kel get home from work.
There was a version of me who could get so lost in a book that the rest of the world simply disappeared. The one who treated the Scholastic Book Fair like a national holiday, carefully counting out dollars and circling titles like they were treasure maps. The one who begged her dad to take her to the library every single weekend, roaming the aisles like it was sacred ground. The one who could finish a book in a few hours and immediately start another, chasing that familiar ache of “just one more chapter.”
That version of me is still here. I still love books. I still love the idea of getting lost in someone else’s world. But sometimes it feels like too much effort just to pick one up. Like my brain is already too full, buzzing with noise and responsibility, or my attention span is frayed at the edges. Sitting still, focusing, sinking in, it can feel harder than it should.
I hate feeling that way. Like last night when I tried to read. Not because I’ve stopped loving reading, but because reading has always felt like home to me. And when something that once felt effortless starts to feel heavy, it’s disorienting. I miss that easy escape, that quiet joy of being completely absorbed. Tommy rechecked out the book for me so I can finish it. So, I’m happy about that.
My poor desk is slowly falling apart. The front of one of the drawers fell off the other day. Since then, I’ve been cautiously cleaning it out because things keep randomly spilling onto the floor. Yesterday, the organizing tray finally gave up, slid right out of the drawer, and scattered everything everywhere. Of course, that was the exact moment Karissa walked in, just in time to witness the chaos and help me put everything back into the tray.
I spent the day studying, and my focus was pretty solid today, which always feels like a small victory. Everest didn’t come over, and Chris just wasn’t feeling it, so he decided to stay home from school. He only had one class anyway, so I guess it didn’t feel like a huge loss, sometimes listening to your body (or your mood) is the better choice.
I was gifted a bag of M&Ms yesterday and ended up sharing them with Tommy last night. I didn’t actually eat my half then, so I’m munching on them now. They’re the caramel cold brew flavor, which explains exactly why someone thought of me when they bought them. Coffee-flavored chocolate feels very on brand.
For now, I think I’ll sit and read for a bit before Tommy and Kel get home from work. They’re planning to stop by Costco on the way, so I have a little quiet time.
