Sunday, January 4, 2015


There are very few things which give me a sense of accomplishment. In fact, I can only think of three things. One, running. Two, creating. Three, reading. And by creating, I mostly mean writing. Sure, back in the days during my creative peak, I painted and collaged and stitched and even made music. I was a renaissance woman! A real trailblazer! Now that those days have packed their bags and left me standing at the train station of nostalgia, I... Oh my. This post might be all the proof you need to see how shoddy my writing has become. "The train station of nostalgia." Good one. Sigh.

Okay, so I should give myself a break. I can do this! Do what? Write? Yeah! Write what? I don't know! Should you know? I don't know! You don't know if you should know? I don't know! You don't know if you don't know if you should know? Yeah, pretty much. Pretty much what? Hey, who the hell are you anyway? *disappears in cloud of smoke*

That is my inner dialogue, folks. All of the time. About all of the things. All of the things which enter my head go through this interrogation, this maze of questions. This might be what is holding me back from creating. I silence it when I am running and while I am reading, but when I sit down to write? Well, this is when I give up my power and allow the doubt to creep in. No, it doesn't creep in. It rips the door off of its hinges and storms in. The time when I should showcase and own my voice is when I lose it without a fight.

Well, that stops now! How? Hey, I don't know. Shouldn't you know how to stop the doubt? You mean how to stop you? Am I doubt? Or am I reason? I think you are an asshole. Are you sure? This might be the one thing I know for certain right now. So you are going to write without any kind of direction? Without any destination or purpose? I'll figure it out. Are you sure? Sorry, I can't hear you. I said, ARE YOU --

Am I what? I didn't give the interrogator time to finish. I went into another room. That's all. I just got up and left them in the small space with the broken door and went somewhere quiet, somewhere that didn't even need doors because it was so open. And this is where I'll shout and sing and say whatever I want. And this is where I will claim my voice. And this is where I will begin. Will it be where I end? I don't know and I don't care. Right here is all that I need with an unlimited sky above.

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