Sometimes, when you write, nothing comes out the way you want it to and somewhere your voice gets lost. It gets stuck in the muck and muddle of all the words and thoughts and digging it out is damn near impossible.
And sometimes you can't quit obsessing over a grammatical error. A really simple one that really just niggles and irks you and takes up rest in your brain.
And sometimes you just don't think it's good enough. Getting it out wasn't enough because it isn't accurate and doesn't sound like you or what you intended on saying.
And sometimes it's really hard, but the difficult stuff is the good stuff and the stuff that people need to read and relate to and that's all that keeps you typing away. Even when you don't like what you read because it's too raw and real and it doesn't feel quite right traveling from your brain to your fingertips, like you're telling a secret on yourself.
Sometimes it doesn't feel like enough. And it also feels like too much.
And that's when I look at pictures of my husband. And Meg. Because dogs are cool. And my husband is the whole world.