A Room of One’s Own

My son sat across the room, staring out the window. He had the deep, distance look of someone lost in a daydream, his eyes transfixed intently on the movie inside his head and seeing nothing in front of him. I watched him for nearly five minutes as the scene unfolded. A furrowed brow divulged some conflict, which slowly, over the course of a minute, was resolved. His brow relaxed and a gentle smile fell upon his face like rain, starting at his forehead and gently dripped down his face to his wide smiling mouth. His bright sparkling eyes stared intently at the inner scene and remained blind to my invasion. I was in awe at both his ability to completely block out his surroundings and create a world so rich it was worthy of these strong expressions. He has always had the ability to do this.


 I realized that this is the state I try to attain when I am conjuring these stories. To recall a moment is fairly simple, I have the stories locked in my head, but to summon the emotion and details requires a bit more effort. The other day, on my way to work I was thinking about a particular memory and realized once I pulled into the parking lot that I didn’t remember any of my short drive. The realization made me nervous of other driver’s and my own safety of course, but I was mostly amazed that I could be lost so deeply.  It made me yearn for a room of my own, a space and time where I won’t kill anyone with my car. Perhaps I need a vacation.

About Kelli K.

The purpose for staring this blog is threefold, one, to push my personal limits a bit and share my story with others, two, hopefully in doing so, to get a clearer understanding of myself and three, to inspire the youth with similar stories to keep going. My story is weird. I’ve seen the response on people’s faces my entire life. I am fairly guarded on what and how I share with people but I have decided I’m too old give a fuck anymore. As I’ve said, my story is weird, but only parts. Many parts are very normal. Hopefully this blog will allow me to introduce myself in a way that reflects my many angles (and curves) and refuses to let you walk away and peg me as, “the girl who did this” or “the girl who did that”.
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