Tabula Rasa.

Its days like this that make me believe in the blank slate.

Not so much the open mind ready to be educated and enriched by the world, but a version of tinnitus of the brain.

There is just not a think in here.

When I was seven my mother required 5 sentences for each journal entry. Half of my entries has four sentences and then the fifth: This is the fifth sentence.

This entire post is the fifth sentence.

 

 

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Anna Rosenblum Palmer is a freelance writer based in Denver, CO. She writes about sex, parenting, cat pee, bi-polar disorder and the NFL; all things inextricably intertwined with her mental health. In her free time she teaches her boys creative swear words, seeks the last missing puzzle piece and thinks deeply about how she is not exercising. Her writing can be found on Babble, Parent.co, Great Moments in Parenting, Ravishly, Good Men Project, Sammiches and Psych Meds, Playpen, Crazy Good Parent, and YourTango. She also does a fair amount of navel gazing on her own blog at annarosenblumpalmer.com.

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