Kat Atwell is a freelance writer, blogger & stage presence telling stories that deliver laughs, validation & community.

Mental Health | Wellness & Self Image | Experiential & Reviews

Not Telling.

So, I started out the month by not writing. Then, I didn't write some more. About halfway through the month, I made a conscious choice to take a writing hiatus for the month of July, because, hell, it was halfway gone, anyway.

I just spent a ridiculous amount of time staring at my computer screen, willing myself not to write, since it's not August yet. But look at me! I'm breaking my own rules and doing something healthy a day sooner than I'd planned to. Go me!

My daughter and her friend are upstairs doing something that sounds really messy. I don't wanna know.  I don't.

Coincidentally, I was at the doctor's office last night and we discussed my habitual avoidance. How timely!

Now I can't come up with anything to write about. That's helpful. What matters is that I'm writing, and I know that. I've been getting lots of things done lately. Today, I actually wrote a retrospective to-do list just so I could see how many things I'd already accomplished. It felt good.

I'm working on moderating my diet presently. It's time to find out what's adding to my mood swings, and figuring out how to best direct myself toward the right options, while also enjoying the act of eating more. At lunch today, I made it a point to eat somewhere other than my desk. I went out and got a little Vitamin D and read a book outside while I ate, and it was great. It was quiet, solitary time that I needed.

Come to think of it, I want some solitary time now. A walk sounds delicious. I was in the process of deleting that word for some reason. I thought it sounded weird. Maybe it's because I was just talking about food. Maybe I'm worrying too much about what other people think, when the purpose of this journal is to do the exact opposite.

To be honest, I think I assign the readers the same role as my ego, which isn't fair to any of you. You are, as a whole, great people. Hell, I'm great people. I just have a fucked up inner voice.

Whatever the mess is upstairs, it smells like tropical dryer sheets, which is weird, because we don't have anything like that at our house. I'm pretty impressed at how little I'm concerned about this.

I'm grinding my teeth right now. I have too many things and nothing to say at the same time. I should probably be tidying something up. Or drinking some water. Or exercising.

My psychologist says that my brain comes up with really super ways to get me to not write and not meditate. The above paragraph would be full of examples.

Well, I set my alarm for ten minutes, and I blew right through it. Ah, and smell was explained: hand sanitizer. If she's making a mess, at least it's with hygienic products.

Any day.

Underwhelmed.