Final Draft

How do I prove I'm me?

That's the question isn't it?

Am I writing this to form my thoughts or is this going into the final draft, the post, or submission to the challenge?

Words.

Word salad.

Yummy yummy.

That's me, that's how you know it's me, because this my "conscious"? stream of thoughts. Pulp non-fiction you could call it.

Non-fiction? Are my thoughts non-fiction? They're real? I really thought them? Does that make them fact? Non-fiction? Or just lil opinions floating around like jellyfish inside of my head. Sometimes I can feel the current flowing, up there in my brain. A cooling system for the overheating motor that is my brain. That shit's always overthinkin'./overheatin'.

"She just wanna ride the-Ride the waAave"

*Dance Break*

How long's it been? It's 10:43a.m on a Sunday. I'm listening to music, typing my thoughts out. Are they intriguing enough to catch anyone's attention? "Hello," in Mickie's voice, if you're reading this, "Hi."

My name's Mickie, I'm 27-years-old. I have 2 children, E and C. This reads like a bio now. They're my whole heart.

Well, they are. Two halves of two people that make up my entire world and fill every inch of my heart. I love them more than words can express. When they're around, they fill the air with their awesomeness, their love, their joy, their play, their tears sometimes, their risky daredevil sense of wonder; I love them. I love watching them grow and play and learn, they're so cool. They're so much smarter than me, and braver than me, and stronger and still so fragile and small. Caring for them and looking after them is such a joyous responsibility that I hope to uphold with love and dignity and care and concern and with the ability to give them freedom to grow on their own. My little flowers, bold and beautiful, both of them, differently.

I have this thing, that's hard to read, I haven't read it all the way through, but I have to, soon. I don't want to tell you what it is. That's my secret. That's how you know this is me writing this. I have something I'm not willing to share about myself, not to everyone, here in this room. It's easier to gossip about a stranger and their affairs than it is to air your dirty laundry on a forum with a bunch of strangers.

But How do you know that I'm not lying?

*distract, distract*

Anywho, how's the weather?

It was nice here today, in my town, where I live, where there's a 5-minute walk anywhere. That's the nice part about it. There's usually a pretty nice breeze, that's even nicer. It's a pretty okay town all in all. How was the air and the breeze and the sunshine for you today? I hope you felt it, I hope you breathed in fresh air, I hope you got to go out into nature today and enjoy that. At least, I like doing that. Winter's a killer for that reason. I moved from Florida about 5years ago, now. Jesus, that sucks. I'm in the Midwest now, and as lovely as parts of it is, nothing compares to the beach. My longing for the beach, is almost inexpressible. People here don't understand. I grew up in the Midwest, playing everyday in the woods, spending my winters in the snow...but when I was 14 I moved to Florida. And Oh My. The beach? That's home. It'll always be home. I miss it so much that I could cry, but I won't because I already did my makeup today. Okay, maybe a couple tears for home. Trade salty tears for salty ocean? Deal. Anyway I have laundry to do, it's 11:05a.m now. I have a life outside of this post and I need to get ready for the day. I have laundry to fold and boxes to take to Helping hands and a plug to put into a spout in my grandma's garden. That's it, there it is, squeezed but not strained, left the pulp, final draft. I hope you have a lovely day.