“Where are the Pocky Paulettes?”
“The Polly Pockets are in the toy bins in your bedroom.”
“Mom! The Pocky Paulettes are missing! Where are dey?”
“The Polly Pockets are in the toy bins in your bedroom, Julia.”
“Mom! The Pocky Paulettes aren’t in dere.”
After a brief bedroom inspection the Polly Pockets (or Pocky Paulettes if your 3), were indeed in the toy bins. During this exchange I discovered that I too, am a lost Polly Pocket. I’ve been doing laundry all day, wiping tables, noses and whatever else is gooey, chewy or heaven forbid—poo—ey. In between all this I work a little. I write, market, promote, tweet, and Facebook.
Sometimes I’m productive. Mostly I’m semiductive. When I only sort of, kind of, semi accomplish something in my writing world, I have the tendency to feel lost. It’s not that I don’t feel validated for all the wiping, toy-finding and half-measured writing projects—I am! It’s simply that I don’t always know where I am. Maybe I’m in lost inside the toy bin, or beneath a pile of laundry. Of course I’m probably not lost at all, but only misplaced somewhere in my own mind. It’s okay to be a lost Polly Pocket. In the end I’ll be found, and if lucky one or both of my feet have not been chewed off by a dog.