writing my thoughts is an incredible outlet for me. finding the right words, the ones that say exactly what i mean, changes me. especially if what i'm feeling is dark or sad or complicated. there's a peacefulness to seeing it all there, staring back at me in black and white. makes it tangible, makes it real, real enough to be dealt with and then dismissed. but then there are those times when the words don't come. today, the words won't come. i've been ______ all day (confused, hurt, angry, frustrated...), over something i can't even put into words. it comes down to lots of details. he can sleep on things; i need to have them resolved. now. i press in; he gives space. potatoe, potahto. my feelings get wounded over things that even i will admit are, at best, childish. and worse, even though the things that hurt me are childish, i still can't dismiss them and have that be that. i guess a wound is a wound, no matter what kind or why, but the stupid ones are harder to be up-front about. sigh.