I woke up this morning and a dull pain had spread from my head, down into my stomach, and decided to stay there. I felt like barfing and crying at the same time, but could do neither because of the dull, but persistent, pain that had latched on to my spinal chord and permeated out through my extremities.

I was going to finish that post, but I didn't, and now I don't want to, so I'll just leave it as it is.

I've discovered something. After all these years of writing, I've never been completely honest in what I record. It's like I'm writing to my sister or my mom, and even though I can tell them just about everything, it's not everything. But this past week I took a notebook and wrote really obscure things about myself and my thoughts, things that I don't talk about with others and before now haven't written about because I didn't want to explain myself, and I feared being judged or labeled as strange, even by the imaginary readers of my journal-writing. But I put those reservations aside, and let me tell you, it is liberating. Before, I was writing merely to make a record. Now I am writing to free myself. Honesty with others can be difficult. Honesty with myself, well, it can be excruciating. But I'm getting there. And even though the things I've decided to write about in this notebook of mine may be ultimately inconsequential, it has released a weight on my mind that I refused to acknowledge before, but now that is is lifted, I don't want it back.

I may not be a great writer, but something in me says I was born to be one.

I mean, look at this hair. It deserves some time in the limelight.

P.S. I ran across this quote on another blog a week or two ago. It's good, no?

"If we wait for the moment when everything, absolutely everything is ready, we shall never begin."
--ivan turgenev


  1. Very good quote in deed. I hope you get feeling better!

  2. Good for you. Sweet Hair by the way!

  3. I think pretty much every one who ate at our house is sick. I'm sorry. If it's any comfort, it only lasts 24 hours and my uncle Marc, who you met and is also a doctor, said it's not food poisoning.

  4. I am always fascinated by your thought process and how your writing pulls me in. I want to know "how things turn out".

  5. Oh yeah, and I've always thought you had amazing hair. Even the stuff I found in the bottom of the crayon bucket.

  6. Liz, you are so funny. I always thought that you were wonderful, along with you sister and your mom and your dad. We loved you and your family when we first met you all in Bagdad. Thanks for sharing your thoughts with us and being true to yourself.