Gushing

We cut into our first watermelon for the season, and the sought-after-child emotions gushed. Such a nonsensical emotion to pour over while cutting watermelon, but the childhood memories poured, mostly of my father's garden, and our old house, the 2 bedroom house I grew up in when we were the hellions of our neighborhood. We jumped off rooftops, set fires, had lice, played in the gutters, or simple put, exploitative with no bounds.

I decided on a pack of mini, cheap spiral notepads found in the $2 bin, and black .7 bic rolling pins. I can jot, and rip out as needed. The pens bleed out. I hate it, but they will do. Moleskins are useless to me, as they force me to think I need to write something profound. Remember, "I am free to write the worst junk in the world." Just write what is running through you.

I was craving brownies, the overly fudge-y, gooey, 2 cups-of-sugar-kind of brownies. I headed to the kitchen, nothing was going to stop me. I was going to deliver on my cravings.

Instead of purchasing the used texts I needed, I rummaged through the English Criticism section, and bought the pocket size edition of Writing Down The Bones. To this day, I still keep it in my bag, and refer to it often.

Write every day. Every. Single. Day. Stop thinking that you need to fulfill an ideal. You don't. Open and trust yourself in the process. 

Writing Down The Bones
Full Moon Brownies