Part of this whole being a writer thing is claiming my truth. I’m off to a slow start.
I drink my coffee in a way that can be best described as having some coffee with my cream. It’s such a light color when I’m finished that my daughter once thought it was white wine in my mug. This wouldn’t even be worth relaying where it not for the fact that I am a recovering alcoholic and white wine in a mug (so sneaky!) was my jam. For a moment my daughter thought the quarantine had bested me.
But, back to my profound truth. In a continued effort to lose weight without having to, ya know, exercise, I decided today to give up cream in my coffee. To rise above, take a stand, make a change, take my life back from the scourge of vanilla creamer.
I lasted 1/2 mug before admitting defeat to my husband and making the “I wouldn’t ask you to go to the store for something trivial, but this is important” face. Mercifully, we are early enough into our marriage that this worked, although I’m aware I’m living on borrowed time there.
Writing is meant to be restorative, cleansing, bracingly honest. Today I take the first brave step and announce I do not like my coffee black.
Watch this space for further writerly truths. I must say I feel stronger already. Feel free to leave your own truth in the comments – you’ll feel better, I promise you.
The Bonus Room 