almost

I've been thinking about writing what I've been living through lately. Writing used to be my solace, my therapy, my outlet. 

Part of me doesn't want to go that deep again. 

Part of me knows it'll help not just me but maybe others in the same place. That time when your children are growing up and your parents need you in different ways than you could have imagined. When your life feels continually upended and your equilibrium and center have shifted to a place you don't know. 

Today I was ready to start writing it. 

But it turns out I'm not. 

Thinking, contemplating, mulling it inside is as much as I can muster. 

But tomorrow is another day.