The Tombigbee River, Mississippi, Photo by Kimberlycarol From 2006
Excerpt Chapter 2
I start typing furiously, afraid of losing the will to do something other than the daily must do list. “Maybe it will be therapy for my soul to put it on paper,” I say out loud to no one. “Can I just type right now without thinking?” I find it hard to voice exactly what thoughts are running through my mind and not judge them as they are released. We are complicated beings with strange thoughts and desires. I don’t know why I fret over something people might not ever read anyway. Just words on a screen.
Abruptly I shut the laptop and get up and go to the shower. When I step in, the spray is a perfect
temperature and I begin to relax and breathe in the spray. Texas, like me is dry and the steamy shower reminiscent of humid Mississippi brings some relief from the parched air. Soaping my smooth body, I can feel my youthfulness is still with me. I tell myself “I am in great shape for someone over forty.” When I step from the shower and glance at the middle aged woman in the mirror though, I grimace at myself with an annoyed expression. A few pounds have crept in during the latest bout of melancholy and I resolve to reduce the calorie count and go to the gym.
My answer to everything has always been to bring order first, corral any chaos, and then move forward, so I am not going to sit here anymore waiting for something to good to happen. I must remind myself day after day that I can write or crash. Write or sleep away my life. Write or cry. The adage is “write what you know,” so to keep from just quitting my life, I will purge the past and anxiety. I am always working on finding little joys in the everyday, so there will be some of that,
but the real “what I know” is that it is what happened in between the everyday that was hard.
My hair in a towel, I look out the window and notice the trees are unnaturally still and I find myself staring at them waiting for a breeze. Most days, the hot wind gusts dry out the foliage and stir up dust, but today as if posing for a landscape artist, the live oaks are quiet and I feel strange.
“What is the problem?” I cry inwardly. “What sucked the life out of my life?”
Back at the desk, other memories push at my soul bringing a rush of shame that colors my face and causes me to feel a little sick inside. There are so many things I am not proud of and as I start the process of telling my story, I’m not sure whether recalling those memories will help anyone, especially me. Afraid to share too much of the real me that hides beneath the unsteady woman who sits here, I feel a shadow of panic begin to edge its way into the peace of writing and I shut my laptop again.
Walking over to the bed, I crawl in and curl up in a small ball. A few minutes later, my cat curls up next to me and I start crying. I realize that I really can’t, or won’t tell the whole, whole story and I
feel a squeeze of anxiety in my chest just thinking about thinking about it.
copyright kimberlycarol.com 2006 excerpt from The Barefoot House
about the author
First sneak peek Barefoot House Prologue (post 4)
second sneak peek Prologue part 2 (post 5)
Chapter 1 excerpt (post 6)
Excerpt Chapter 2
I start typing furiously, afraid of losing the will to do something other than the daily must do list. “Maybe it will be therapy for my soul to put it on paper,” I say out loud to no one. “Can I just type right now without thinking?” I find it hard to voice exactly what thoughts are running through my mind and not judge them as they are released. We are complicated beings with strange thoughts and desires. I don’t know why I fret over something people might not ever read anyway. Just words on a screen.
Abruptly I shut the laptop and get up and go to the shower. When I step in, the spray is a perfect
temperature and I begin to relax and breathe in the spray. Texas, like me is dry and the steamy shower reminiscent of humid Mississippi brings some relief from the parched air. Soaping my smooth body, I can feel my youthfulness is still with me. I tell myself “I am in great shape for someone over forty.” When I step from the shower and glance at the middle aged woman in the mirror though, I grimace at myself with an annoyed expression. A few pounds have crept in during the latest bout of melancholy and I resolve to reduce the calorie count and go to the gym.
My answer to everything has always been to bring order first, corral any chaos, and then move forward, so I am not going to sit here anymore waiting for something to good to happen. I must remind myself day after day that I can write or crash. Write or sleep away my life. Write or cry. The adage is “write what you know,” so to keep from just quitting my life, I will purge the past and anxiety. I am always working on finding little joys in the everyday, so there will be some of that,
but the real “what I know” is that it is what happened in between the everyday that was hard.
My hair in a towel, I look out the window and notice the trees are unnaturally still and I find myself staring at them waiting for a breeze. Most days, the hot wind gusts dry out the foliage and stir up dust, but today as if posing for a landscape artist, the live oaks are quiet and I feel strange.
“What is the problem?” I cry inwardly. “What sucked the life out of my life?”
Back at the desk, other memories push at my soul bringing a rush of shame that colors my face and causes me to feel a little sick inside. There are so many things I am not proud of and as I start the process of telling my story, I’m not sure whether recalling those memories will help anyone, especially me. Afraid to share too much of the real me that hides beneath the unsteady woman who sits here, I feel a shadow of panic begin to edge its way into the peace of writing and I shut my laptop again.
Walking over to the bed, I crawl in and curl up in a small ball. A few minutes later, my cat curls up next to me and I start crying. I realize that I really can’t, or won’t tell the whole, whole story and I
feel a squeeze of anxiety in my chest just thinking about thinking about it.
copyright kimberlycarol.com 2006 excerpt from The Barefoot House
about the author
First sneak peek Barefoot House Prologue (post 4)
second sneak peek Prologue part 2 (post 5)
Chapter 1 excerpt (post 6)
