Here we go.
The most writing I’ll get done all day is this blog post. I could resent it and make everyone in the house miserable, or I could give up my time to the people I love. Throw something about a grateful heart in there. You’re smart people, figure it out.
I need to write today though. It helps when sand blows through my brain, bringing that smell off the desert with it. It helps when I find myself hyperaware and on edge for no reason. It helps when I want to blow up over spilled juice or the fact that my little one can’t find his shoe again. It helps because there are things that need to be taken out of my head and put on the page.
Therapy helps. Writing is better.
Yet another Rook mistake... 
Really like this the second paragraph is moving fast towards prose poetry; something I admire but avoid.
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