Uncertainty.

When Ryland gets excited, his breathing escalates and he grins, and he has to hold onto something tight-tight-tight until he can’t hold any more tightly, until he’s just a tangle of skinny arms and legs sitting on my lap, hugging my neck.

I feel like that sometimes. That everything here is something I have to hold onto with an iron grip, that I can’t afford to lose anything that I have. Things are twisting up inside my grip and writhing to get free, but somehow I can’t manage to let them go. I get too excited, too scared, too painfully aware of myself.

I haven’t written here much lately. I guess it’s because I don’t know what to say, what would keep you entertained, what would ever interest you about me. I haven’t lost interest in writing for you, I promise. I just… am never sure what I can say and what I can’t, and lately… I’m just not sure of myself. Sure that I can make this what you want to hear.