This was not a post I had planned on writing, and even as I type out these very fragile words (what words aren't, fragile?), I toy with the idea of backing out. Of retracing my steps to last night, before the meltdown and before my conversation with my mom and Adam.
But instead, I sit; my legs are crossed and there's a heated summer breeze reminding me to breathe slowly--move slowly. To stop filling a beautifully empty space full of possibility with more deadlines and to do's.
I didn't see this coming, in fact, the phrase, "what if I pushed back the date,"kind of exploded out of me after a series of paces from one end of the house to another; these kinds of decisions are not stumbled upon lightly, but rather, like an all too dramatic toe stub and overreaction to how you reacted, "oh my gosh, why does it hurt so much, it's only a stubbed toe!"It happened, I felt it, the relief of feeling it, and the sting of realizing that the conclusion I had come to would take an extremely un-Chloe-like act of rebellion.Read More