My words

Talking to my friend and driving other people crazy, I realize that the way that I grapple with my life is to put it into words. I need to reduce it to metaphors and similes, adjectives, vowels, and consonants. Just words. It's how I make sense to myself. I like to speak these things, but not everybody wants to hear them. Which creates more to grapple with. So I write. Or type. Or whatever. If I can say it or write it, it's not bigger than me. I can control it in a way. And to be understood, well that is my greatest desire, I think. Not to be agreed with, but valid. Worth the air and all.

It's how I pray. I should not say Poor God, but I'm sure if He ever tired of anything, I could weary Him.

I wax eloquently while driving. Sometimes I slip up while preaching to myself and move my lips, and my kids stare at me. I like to act like they are crazy in those moments.

Sometimes I talk things into the ground I'm told. I'm sure I do. I think I need them in the ground and not up in my head.

I have things to say and work out and understand. My words are my voice. My favorite people are the ones that delight in communicating with me. I just need it. It's how I find out who I am. And who you are. I want to know both.

I don't know any other way. I am open to suggestions.