I am afraid it is impossible for me to do anything spontaneously—let alone write words in a row with adequate—if not perfect—punctuation. I am a slave to proofreading. I proofread my words and my living. I have the darnedest time even getting dressed without changing my top at least three times. My hair is seldom if ever ok enough for me to go out of the house “as is.” And I know I stammer and look at my feet whenever I try to talk to people—especially people who intimidate me, which is pretty much anybody who is wearing a nice top and has decent hair.
I don’t want to be like this. I want to be a person who goes with the wind, who can pick up at a moment’s notice and do something reckless and fun, who is comfortable in a room full of strangers and admired for her likability. I am not that person. I am, by nature, cautious. I measure my words and double check them twice. I like to keep my ducks in a row and outward appearances polished and appropriate. No matter how exhausting and embarrassing, I am by nature a crippled introvert who is most at ease at home in her jammies in the company of her cats.
I do like the beach. Preferably on unexpectedly beautiful afternoons when it has occurred to no one else that the weather is warm enough to venture down to the waves. To see only my own foot prints in the sand makes me feel safe and oddly important; like I have God’s undivided attention and She and I are the only ones on the planet, just walking together—there where the ocean meets the land and my thoughts are free to come and go with the tides and spill out in confession and gratitude to the only One who understands.
To my dear followers: Please be warned, I have signed up for Blogging U’s Writing 101 course. You will inevitably be seeing quite a bit of gibberish over these next 20 weekdays. I will, as always, try to fill in with posts of some substance in between and on the weekends.