#chatty cathy

So. Many. Auditions.

I’m one of those people who likes to send excited little bursts of words to someone when life feels good—when I’m learning, loving, noticing things. That’s usually where my joy goes. Right now, that person is busy, doing what life has them doing. And that’s okay. Truly. I feel grounded about it. Miss them, though. Both things can be true. So the extra words go elsewhere. They spill out here. They spill out to my husband. They spill out to myself. I talk when I’m happy. I get animated. I get chatty.

something about vintage dolls is offputting to me. not in a creepy way, but in a ‘the children that she was meant to represent have grown on and moved on with their lives. many of them are dead. but shes still here, eternally young’ way. one time I went to a thrift store and saw a beat up Chatty Cathy doll. When I pulled her string, the distorted voice of a dead woman came out. I have a Crissy doll that was played with so hard in the 70s that her hair was beyond matted. Those children are gone, but the dolls are still the same.