I did something I haven’t done in a long time this morning. I worked on the living room some, that isn’t all that new, and God knows it needs it.

Then the dust started to get to me (I’m really allergic to dust mites.) and I came upstairs to be on the computer for a while.

While I was waiting for everything else to boot and/or start up, I opened the file for my memoir. I haven’t looked at this in months, although I should have.

The piece I read/edited is the first section,and is all but complete. What was different was that it really didn’t hurt to read that. I remember what I wrote, I certainly remember what I felt when the events I’m describing happened, but it didn’t push my trauma trigger this time, although it usually has in the past.

No flashback trip back to the greiving 3 yo, and that’s a relief! I remember her all too well, but it gets tiresome revisiting her anytime I talk about my past in depth.

After working on the livingroom and THEN reading the memoir section, I expected that I’d go into the flashback hard, but I didn’t!

Maybe, just maybe, I can get to be a 50ish woman and not have to pay for my lousy childhood on a regular basis someday…and wouldn’t THAT be lovely?

jkd