I’m definitely in the mood to uncut for just a bit.

I miss my ’10 grads. I saw a picture today of one of them, with her UMass friends, looking so forward to classes beginning in the fall. She, like all the others, looks so different already. To think they were in high school just two months ago is ridiculous. They have moved on and are excited about what lies ahead. As I said, though, I miss them.

My own kids can’t seem to find their summer groove. Their expectations are through the roof, they are extremely emotional, and not much is making them happy these days. It breaks my heart. I don’t know what else to do for them, but to offer them routine, stability, love, and patience.

I’m not writing enough. I can’t find my own groove as well, and it’s getting to me. I just can’t piece this revision together an hour here, an hour there. I get in the core, and then it’s time to switch gears for the rest of the day–no, not gears. It’s more like changing stations from the Discovery Channel to Nick Jr. No sims there. Totally derailed. I spend half of my next writing hour trying to regroup and remember what I did last session.

I’m battling the negatives with my guitar lessons. Shouts of You Suck and You’ll Never Be Good Enough resonate every time I pick up the guitar. It’s horrible. Kills my confidence.

I miss my nature photo shoots. I’m going to take Bellatrix out this weekend for a shoot somewhere. Problem is, I trip with her, and then my writing time suffers.

Maybe I just need to write and get through that. Not miss my grads, show my kids my own summer groove, and realize I can’t do it all this summer. There’s a time for everything.

Maybe I just need to hate this and just get some rest and just start over tomorrow and just be okay with that and just write.

Maybe.

I watched (most of) A Beautiful Mind last night. Disturbed me for some reason. Tried to figure it out, but it’s not coming to me. Really weighed heavily on my mind as I tried to fall asleep afterward. Hmm.

I wish I didn’t like to do so many things. I wish, sometimes, that I was just a writer, or just a musician, or just a teacher, or just a photographer.

Maybe I just wish that writing this would have made everything better, but it has not.

Hmm.

I wish that I could write the words, Maybe That’s Okay.

But I know it is not.

Maybe.