I should write, you know?
I should take advantage of this finally-quiet house, boys sleeping in grand adventure on an air mattress in the basement, husband asleep in our bed, baby in her crib, my mom sneakily changing into her pajamas up in the kids’ room, trying not to wake the little one.
You’d think, wouldn’t you, that after so many busy days full of noise and memories and family and did I mention noise, I’d have Something Important To Say. My heart, my mind, my fingers clattering away at the keyboard should be full of words.
But somehow they aren’t. So maybe I won’t write.
Maybe instead I’ll sit here in my flannel pants and scrapbooking t-shirt, with the dog passed out on the couch across the way, and play a mindless computer game or check Twitter or update my facebook status. Maybe I’ll sink a little deeper into my navy armchair and listen to the crickets outside and the refrigerator inside. Maybe I’ll think a bit about tomorrow’s to-do list and how my toes hurt, and perhaps I’ll worry a tiny bit about my little guys down in the basement all alone together, and maybe I’ll pray for a moment or two, because it is quiet and how my soul has longed for this.
Writing is a good thing, you know? Good for the mind and the heart and the soul. Good for pouring out.
But silence– listening– meditating– they are good as well, for mind and heart and soul. Good for filling up.
And so perhaps you’ll excuse me if I choose not to write tonight.