For some reason, writing by hand is soothing to me right now. As a girl, I went through reams of paper writing my stories and little poems. They were always such flights of fancy. If only I could write again with such youthful vision and joy. But now, now I'm a woman grown and must act so.
I mourn my childhood often. I mourn the loss of that wild eyed tomboy who hated math, loved books and could climb any tree, or so she thought. i was a brash, graceless and bold thing .. then something changed. Some where that ferice joy of living and daredevil courage was replaced with some other thing.
We speak of sex, gender, and gender roles. I suddenly ask, was my problems because I didn't know what my gender role was to be at that point in time? I don't know, but I'm not going to search for the answer. it would probe more of a difficulty then a blessing.
I want to write, but my mind has gone blank, my eyelids grow heavy, and I find that I want to sleep.
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