I have always believed in the power of writing. For me, it has a magical effect. Writing and words, they are powerful (I told this to my students today. They blinked).

It wasn’t until I was in my 9th grade Pre-AP Language Arts class with Mrs. Brandt that I learned the word that would perfectly describe this magic. In this class, we had vocab words we had to memorize and what not.

We were assigned a vocab word, and we had to present it to the class in a unique way. Crosswords and Jumbles were popular. A movie clip was popular (I showed the beginning of the Lion King when I got zenith). But, the one I most remember is the one I probably spent the most time on. I made a little cartoon (despite my lack of drawing abilities) for the word catharsis. At 14, I had never heard this word before, but it has become a buzzword for me ever since. And, every time I see this word or use this word, a picture of that little cartoon pops into my mind.

Yesterday, I wrote a long list of all the things that had been bothering me lately. Things that had been building up and causing me frustration, lack of sleep, stress, and tiredness. I knew it wouldn’t be an interesting post for most. Who cares to read a list of someone’s complaints? After all, we all have our own problems and frustrations to deal with. But I was blocked and irritated with the block. Writing is something that has been eluding me lately and it was just as big of a frustration as the list generated. I figured a crappy post was better than nothing at all. And I was right.

I wasn’t right because people enjoy reading my inane complaints. I was right because all those things had been festering and building up needed to be expressed. Holding them in was not helping–it was hurting. Verbal expression has never, and will never, be my strong suit. So, as I threw all of those things out to the universe, a weight slowly lifted.

When I got home, I was tired and worn out and sniffly. I was tired from the non-sleep. But, R. forced me to the grocery store and as we shopped for a meal to make I felt myself perk up. And then, I made dinner. And this making did not involve putting a pizza on the oven. It actually involved cutting, browning, and assembling.

We ate, we watched the Biggest Loser (Bye, Bernie), and I bounced off the walls. My energy was boundless and I was happy. I felt mildly insane before realizing that I wasn’t just some rollercoaster of emotion–I had done something to cure my malaise. I had written. I had thrown it out to the universe and off of me.

Catharsis. Writing is my catharsis.

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