It’s 2:30 in the morning. I’m awake. Writing. Any other writer in the world knows. Any other mother in the world knows. It’s not a good night.

I’m feeling nostalgic. Pent up. I need to get it out, say it out loud. But I don’t know what it is. I can’t find an appropriate song on my iTunes. I can’t find anyone to talk to. I can’t make myself go to bed. Or fold the laundry. Or read. Or catch up on blogs. I’m sitting. Unmoving. I can’t go forward and I sure as heck don’t want to go backwards.

I’m stuck.

I’ve been needing to reschedule an appointment with my therapist for… weeks now. I can’t do it. I don’t want to say the words that need to be said. I don’t want to discuss issues that need to be discussed. I’m tired of words like adoption and health and pregnancy and vasectomy and fertility and infertility and loss and grief and postpartum depression and anxiety and medication and relaxation techniques and loneliness and fear. I want to write happy words into my life and just have them “be.” I don’t want to work at them or try or put any effort into happiness or peace or ease. I just want them to appear.

Alas, just “dumping” this on my blog has given me a smidgen of peace. I feel some sleep creeping into the corner of my eyes. I’m sure one or both boys will be up in less than four hours. And tomorrow there will be a great price to pay. But sometimes you just need to stay up late and let the thoughts run their course… or sleep won’t be beneficial anyway. Sometimes I stay awake just to avoid the dreams.

Go to bed, Munchkin’sFirstMom. Go to bed.