In time I will be able to write more than 10 words per minute and have less pauses and disruptions. Hopefully letting go and just writing whatever flows through my head. Practice will help, and feedback does too. But I don't think I'll be getting any feedback on this blog for some time. I convince myself that it's just something for myself, but feedback would be nice even if it was completely negative. Not complaining, I thoroughly enjoy writing by itself whatever medium that may be.
This is a chunk about Erin's house and perspective on houses:
There’s an indelible magic that resonates through the cracks of small homes. The magazines promise beauty, ease, yearning for a dream. A fool wouldn’t accept a bigger house, a nice kitchen island, a room for laundry. But somehow the ease almost makes it all forgettable. My childhood home has a massive wooden dining room table just about blocking the kitchen and was most likely meant for a mansion. And still, the inconvenience warmly pierces my memory forgetting the burden each day of squeezing past for breakfast. We joked that Dad bought it so that Mom wouldn’t eat too much, or if she did she’d be stuck in the kitchen forever. I would say that’s the reason I live in a glorified studio with a broken cuckoo clock and a mirror cobwebbed in the bottom corner. But the truth is I make a fraction more than the Chic Fil A drive through employees and 95% of my hard(kinda) earned money is sent to the old woman in lavishly wrinkling away in the Hawaiian sun. My spending habits are pretty good, I have a policy that I can only use my credit card for “essential items” like pens, journals, and sometimes food. “Non essentials” include the bar, the liquor store, Seven Mile Casino, and donating to the dog shelter no matter how tempting it can be. Just last week I did splurge on a “fair condition” leather recliner that doesn’t really go with the simply empty aesthetic and is bulkier than most small couches. But what really set it apart from the rest in the highly saturated craigslist industry of almost trash was the free shipping. I was not extremely inclined to borrow Matt’s truck for the third week in a row. But look, now I have this awesome recliner with two settings: 1) Leaning back normally, and 2) Feeling like you tried to do a flip on the monkey bars and got stuck.
There’s an indelible magic that resonates through the cracks of small homes. The magazines promise beauty, ease, yearning for a dream. A fool wouldn’t accept a bigger house, a nice kitchen island, a room for laundry. But somehow the ease almost makes it all forgettable. My childhood home has a massive wooden dining room table just about blocking the kitchen and was most likely meant for a mansion. And still, the inconvenience warmly pierces my memory forgetting the burden each day of squeezing past for breakfast. We joked that Dad bought it so that Mom wouldn’t eat too much, or if she did she’d be stuck in the kitchen forever.