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My Notepad

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I miss my Son, my Mom, Dad, and my Husband taking the picture. I miss them without any of us being gone. I miss Izzy too, she’s the clump of fur on my Moms lap. I have a good life.

I’ve been writing in a notepad I carry in my Vera Bradley, bag. I don’t write everyday in my notepad. I don’t write every other day, either. I only write when I’m feeling the vibe.

 

I can’t believe I carry a notepad, in my bag, with a lot of my feelings openly written inside. I have actually thought about how I would feel if I misplaced or left my bag at someone’s house or my job. I worry about what people might think of me if they read what I wrote. I worry more about the notepad than my money I have in my bag. If I’m being honest it’s because I have a lot more feelings than money.

 

I’ve thought about leaving the notepad here at home but then I think about how much I love my notepad and how it’s there to catch me if I need to write down what I’m feeling. The fact that there are other feelings of mine written in my notepad, encourages me to keep my notepad with me and write down other feelings, if needed.

 

The notepad has no cover, because of taking it out and putting it back inside my bag so much. I still carry the cover that belongs to the notepad around in my bag, as well.  The notepad at first was to write information down about a product I wear and share on social media. I still share the love I have for the product but not as often.

 

The notepad comes in handy for my feelings, and basically, I guess, that is where my heart may be.

 

I write in my notepad when something or someone makes me angry, and the rest of my writing is about death. I think about death a lot. I think, I think about death more than I should, and no, I don’t know WHY, either. I don’t think about death as in what will happen when I die. I think about all the people I will miss when I do die.

 

I know this may sound odd because when we die we obviously don’t know we’re dead, and in Heaven we don’t miss people they say. I guess you could say, I miss the thought of missing my family and friends.

 

 

 

 

Home

Hardwood Table

My mind

Sits at the table

Inside out

Outside In

All these sounds

Screaming in

Locust humming

Motors running

Cars Honking

someone coughing

feet tapping

Table squeaks

Blood boiling

Hard to breath

Fist clinched

Grinding teeth

racing heart

Whats wrong

With me

All this noise

Quiet shouts

Shouting at me

Calling me out!