On words.

'What was that thing we did where I talked to you...?' I hold this conversation mentally in my head with my husband, no actual words spoken. This question, which lacks all elements of conventional speech, forms in my mind as I remember the feeling of enjoying a good conversation. No subject, no object. Just a string of words that come together as my brain desperately tries to grasp at memories of conversations with my husband, from just two days before.

These days, this is my normal. This loss of words and difficulty in making the connections between my thoughts and the words that come out of my mouth. But it is not desperate or tragic to me that I struggle to remember and find the words I need to hold a normal conversation. It's more fascinating than desperate. Sure, it's often frustrating, and I frequently feel pity for those I am talking to who don't really know me enough to join up the fragments of information that my conversation offers. 

And it's in this space of sleep deprivation and sustaining a life other than my own that I grow ever more grateful for a husband and friends who know me well enough to make sense of the sentences that come out of my mouth, with great gaping gaps punctuating the dialogue, where words should be. 

I continue on with this unspoken conversation with my husband, internally processing in the hope that I might just remember what it is I am wanting to remember. And it finally comes to me. We spent the evening painting some shelves that he had carefully crafted, layering on the primer before the paint, and we talked. About raising children and our childhoods. About Church and our friends. About everything and nothing. We talked and we worked and I loved it. Until the fumes got to me and I had to stop for the night.

Writing this blog has become harder for me since having a baby. Not just because of the time it requires to start and finish a blog post, but because I struggle to have cohesive thoughts that are worthwhile sharing. Sometimes I will sit down to write, but just cannot find the words to articulate what I would like to communicate. But I still have photos and when the words are lacking, I love that I can share pictures as a means of documenting life. I keep coming back here, to this blank white space and a blinking cursor, waiting for my words, because it forces me to make connections between my thoughts. While the process might be slow, I enjoy it, and it does me good.