You guys, it gets so messy in my head.

Peter said the other day, “What are you thinking right now? Go.”

“Nothing.”

“You’re thinking something. I know that look.”

“No, really nothing,” I said.

“No, really something,” he said. Because he’s Peter, who chases after my thoughts.

“Okay, I was thinking about how it’s been so long since I’ve written anything on my blog, and I wonder if anyone has noticed or misses the words, but I also write because I have to and I feel the need right now, but I don’t have anything to say and the last thing I want is to clutter up people’s inboxes with my nothingness.”

“See? I knew it was something.”

It gets messy in my head. If I go more than a few days without writing something to you, then I start to feel this weight of creating something profound. And nothing paralyzes my writing more than the pressure to create profoundly.

So then I don’t write, but the feeling only gets bigger and never goes away.

I’ve been busily writing and creating other things, and every drop of my mojo has been poured into that cup. I’ve been working voraciously and – dare I say – profoundly on a collaboration project that will be born in the spring.

(A collaboration is like ghostwriting, since it’s someone else’s story and written in their voice, but my name is on the project and I don’t have to be anonymous.)

It’s fairly anonymous for now for a host of reasons, so all I can tell you right now is that I’ve spent the last six months thinking in the voices of two authors who are both strong, powerful men, which is a slight touch different from my natural writing voice. But this book is important and the journey has been powerful. The world will know in April.

But that brings us back to today and this space and our traditions together, because I miss hanging out with you.

I could tell you about my yoga practice this morning, when I got super excited because I finally got my feet off the ground in Crow Pose. And then I toppled right over onto my face, which was far from Namaste. Scared the poop out of our dogs, too, all that clamoring and banging down at their level. It wasn’t my finest. That’s why it’s called yoga practice. And it’s also why I take my classes in an online studio from home.

Or I could tell you that Peter and I had a lovely brunch date together, over a crazy delicious spread of bourbon pumpkin pancakes. And then the guy seated in the closest booth across from us slid out of his booth and farted at us. At which point I got the giggles when I wished I wouldn’t need to breathe at all. And Peter said quietly, “Sir, we’re going to need you to point that situation in a different direction. That, my friend, is a loaded weapon.”

I could tell you things like that.

Or I could tell you that we went cape shopping today. As in, shopping for a cape.

Peter needs a cape. Not for an upcoming event, not because he is playing a role that requires such costuming, but because he wants to be able to run through our house, leap off the furniture and twirl in his cape. And I am just the kind of wife who smiles on such things and works to make that dream come true.

(He turned my backyard into a sparkly fantasy of invisible fairies and white lights; surely I can help the man find a cape. We are dream makers in this marriage.)

We went to the costume shop today, since we are not above the 50% off post-Halloween sales.

“Can I help you guys?”

“Yes, we are cape shopping.”

“A cape! What kind of cape?”

“Long. Black. Powerful.”

The guy took us to the back of the store. And I kid you not, he said, “Let’s see. Legwarmers… tutus… where are my capes?” Which was one of my favorite sentences ever.

We found Little Red Riding Hood’s cape, which obviously won’t do.

We found Dracula’s cape, which is too hoodish.

We found a magician’s cape, but it was too short.

We found a king’s robe, but that’s not the right thing at all.

We found a collared cape that turns out to be almost the right thing, except it’s not lined.

At which point I actually heard myself say, “Honey, you could make this work. It’ll be your summer cape.”

Because of course. Who wears a lined cape in the summer? Surely not us. We’re professionals.

The costume guy pointed us to a matching one for me. But I’m afraid we would be the Cape Couple. And I have to draw the line somewhere.

We did get one for Tyler, though. Because he is everything Peter is, he’s been begging for a matching cape, and for $3.00 in the post-Halloween sale, I can make these dreams come true, too. (Don’t tell him, please. Christmas is around the corner.)

So, today I’m writing about cape shopping and yoga face plants and the mess in my head. Because sometimes you just have to get back in the game.

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