I'm attempting to type this with only two fingers of my left hand. The ring finger I cut the entire tip off of while chopping a bell pepper on Thursday. Today, I sliced the middle and index so badly my student doctor husband considered putting in stitches. I want to scream to the universe, "I'M AN ADULT!" Kevin also told me my hands look like the scary guy in Home Alone. Real nice. In other news, I'm considering a knife safety course.

I'm reading Mink River by Brian Doyle right now. I got it for my dad for Christmas because we both read Grace Notes earlier this year and were stung by the brilliance of Doyle's words. He says in that book, that without stories we are just mammals with weapons. And I've thought a lot about that, as I've made a conscious effort to step away from the screens of my phone and television and computer, and read more, and call my sisters more, and pray. I think about stories.

I started my last blog as an effort to tell my stories (angsty heartbreak) but it stopped being about the stories and I lost the sincerity in my words and I needed a long break to figure out what my stories are and what they mean in a larger sense and why I want to tell them in the first place.  

I re-read all of the Harry Potter books during my first trimester of pregnancy. I was so sick I could barely drag myself from my bed to the toilet to vomit and then back to the couch or bed for months. But that story and those books kept me occupied and hopeful. And I thought that maybe if I liked to read other stories of courage and faith and stupidity and love that maybe I should share my own a little more even if it doesn't dent the universe.

And I guess that's my way of saying that I am ready to speak again. Whether or not there is anyone left to listen.