Too Much Chocolate

I remember going to the movies with Terri when we were small girls. And us putting our money together to buy one of those big candy bars. The really large ones. And between us eating the whole thing. Yup. And getting home and being unable to eat any of the supper that was waiting for us. All I would want was a glass of milk. Seemed like a tolerable and bearable antidote for all of that chocolate.

So for the past two days I have been on a retreat. Any who know me will know that I took this seriously when you hear that I didn't even bring a book along to read. Only the Bible. I have been quiet and listening. And journaling. But I have also been writing on my story. Lots and Lots of Writing. I feel like my hands were a huge conduit from my mind to the keyboard. And it has been great. Really swell. I am frankly shocked at how much I enjoyed this process. But like the anecdotal commencement to this post, I am 'writed-out'. I wonder what the milk is a metaphor for. (ha! that is a great ungrammatical phrase!) Perhaps two hours of Andrew Peterson on my way back to Norfolk will do the trick.