I was in the middle of Rumors of Water and sifted through a haystack for old posts in a book club online. I was three months late. I laughed and cried through the comments, wishing I had been on time.
When Diedra challenged blogger-friends to join the conversation about women wanting it all last summer, I wanted to bring something worthy of discussion to that party too, except I was late again, even though ideas burned and swirled like smoke up and out of the chimney impregnating the Internet-neighborhood air.
It takes me too long to process thoughts and idea and make sense of life. By the time I have something to contribute to the conversation, it's often ended.
Maybe it's because I fuss too much. Worry about how I'm going to sound when to say it. How I will look. I'm the middle-schooler getting dressed for the eighth-grade dance inspecting myself far too long in the mirror, wondering whether my outfit will evoke whispers behind cupped hands between friends or impress the other kids in the gym.
In real life, I'm now the mother of those insecure teen girls whose favorite—and least liked—place is before the mirror.
The rest of the story is over here today. Follow this cautious, gorgeous, awkward girl on over.