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I’ve been saying I’ll write tomorrow for way too many tomorrows now.

I hate when the thing I love to do and want to do and get all kinds of happy feelings from becomes a good but unfulfilled intention. Maybe you have some of those, too? Maybe for you it’s not words but something else, some other project or mission or lovely thing.

For me it’s words, but lately all my words seem dull. Dusty.

Lately it seems all the good words are being written by someone else. It seems like my words are the dowdy country cousins who have no business hobnobbing with the cool well-dressed kids.

And really, what does a homemaking, child-rearing, nap-craving woman have to say anyway? That’s the dowdy cousin in me talking. But I’m kind of listening to her old self these days, which is silly and unproductive and I know it.

Here’s the thing. I know what I know, but I feel what I feel. And sometimes the two aren’t friends.

So today I’m reintroducing myself to myself. We’re getting reacquainted and we’re having a little conversation, dull though it may be.

We’re reminding each other about the good things we know… that husband is kind and children are treasures and country life is wonderful and winter will end one day. And we’re reminding each other about the good things we feel… that look in his eye and the way his hand curls around mine and the warmth of a hug and the sinking cozy sweetness at the end of a long day. And self meets self, knowing meets feeling, and…

…well, hello again, joy.

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