I’ve been absent for a few days, as you can see – but to be honest several of you did see the post I posted two days ago that I have since made private. I had a bit of a crisis in my personal life since posting that and thought maybe it was best, for now, to take it down.
Yesterday was a bit of a better day. I was still a little emotionally raw, but it was better.
I did go to another large antique store I haven’t been to in forever called the Old School House or something to that effect. It’s a little further away, but not by much. I did find another couple of treasures, most notably for me is an old tin Whitman’s Chocolate box with an Alphonse Mucha image. Mucha is my favorite artist and I adore Art Nouveau in general.
Anyway, today is Thanksgiving here in America and since I’ve told you how delicious my feelings are – it should be no surprise that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Because reasons.
Those reasons are food.
I’ll have to get to making the mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce soon, as that is my contribution this year and I also hope to work on some fiction at some point today, but before I do – I wanted to talk about something I discussed with a friend the other day.
I know; such a long intro of inconsequential crap to get to the topic I intended to discuss today…
We were talking about how writing can make one discover or rediscover themselves. Writing can make one’s true feelings come out and make you realize not only what you really feel or think about a subject, but also help you make decisions. Basically, my notebook or laptop can essentially be my sounding board.
Writing has been a vehicle for my catharsis; like my one true friend. It brings forth my thoughts like a crashing wave at times – flooding my notebook with memories or feelings I had all but forgotten.
I told my friend that when I first wrote about Sven a couple of years ago, I was surprised to see my laptop telling me of a pregnancy scare I had had with him.
I had honestly forgotten that had ever happened.
I mentioned it to Maja at the time and she stated “Oh, I remember that!”
So I know it wasn’t a fancy of my imagination. How strange that my hand could record something that even my brain didn’t recall on it’s own. Similar instances have happened since – but that was the first and most powerful hit of realization I’ve had.
I suppose everyone is different, but if you were to ask me how to deal with an issue or to figure out a course of action – I would tell you to write your heart out.