I  don’t particularly have time to write for myself, being a mother, full-time student, and employee. But when I don’t write, I feel the buildup of words, thoughts and emotions inside….they roil around, seething, pushing. Always pressing. The words are an octopus whose head is in lodged in my chest, its arms locked rigid, pressing out into my belly, chest, neck. Tension.

When it’s too much, I release a few words at a time. A thought here, a poem line there. The highlights of my professors’ lectures in my notebooks are framed by my own release. That is something that is characteristically me. I am always doodling in the margins, on the backs of envelopes, on the bare spots of grocery store receipts. My mother tells me that my paternal grandmother used to do the same thing.

So. I’ve decided to put the flash writing here. It doesn’t fit the industry standard for flash fiction; in a quick Wikipedia search for flash fiction, the results state that the low cap is 300 words, and the high cap is 1000 words. I am up to 178 now, and I’m already tired. Perhaps I’ll name this flash flash fiction? Either way, enjoy.