melancholyThis afternoon would be a beautiful time to take a walk, but I feel like crawling into bed and wallowing in my thoughts and writing. The sun is actually shining but I have tales to write about the snow bridge in my neighborhood, the scary child at the library and Amish hip-hop wear.
I decided a while ago that if I were to include a dog in any of my stories, it could only be a Corgi. I've lived with one so long, and my dog memories are mainly from my life with one that he'd have to make a special appearance.
Around Christmas time I was struck by my mentions of my dead brother to my husband since I never speak about him. He's been dead 10 years so I don't know if I'm at a point where I'm ready to deal with what happened to my child self during that time period, if it's just less painful to talk about now, or if my relationship with my husband is such a stable, healthy one that it's okay for me to talk about my brother and not pretend that he didn't exist because of all the questions it brings up.
