To define is to limit.

 as part of my writing every day, i think i'm going to try and blog again. at least semi-regularly. it's weird that so many years of my life went by without a written documentation. most of my life i either journalled, blogged, or both, but the past few years have been nothing. and yes, the brain fog from having 3 kids in 5ish years along with everything else that had been going on is nothing to sneeze at, but still.

i'd be lying, though, if i said i was writing this right now for any reason besides the fact that my phone is being screwy and my kindle app won't work and so i can't read. i feel like kicking myself for not reading earlier when i had the chance instead of scrolling facebook. yes, the book i'm reading is a reread from earlier this year, but i listened to the audiobook then and i wanted to read it read it, and now i can't and i'm annoyed. (side note: the audiobook of oona out of order is fantastic. the narrator was excellent. she's definitely one of my top audiobook narrators and that was the first book i heard from her.)

while i'm trying to focus my writing energy on novels (although the one i've first drafted is a beast i'm not sure i really want to tackle right now), i did decide that i would try some flash fiction/short short fiction competitions just to get some more rejections under my belt. i have this block when it comes to poetry or prose poetry and i'm honestly just avoiding it altogether right now.  

this is choppy and disjointed and i just want to go to bed to read but my book isn't working and people keep talking to me. so it is what it is.