My nerves have had a hold on me lately and my words have been impulsively flying out of my mouth and off my fingertips without a filter in place.
Today was fantastic, but I’m only just now starting to truly appreciate how great it was. I sat the entire day on the front porch reading and writing, finally finishing a book, thinking about what to start next because, no, I’m not ready for Joyce still. There are books on my shelf that need attention. I never finished that little Hemingway piece, but it s t a r t e d s o s lowly. And boringly.
I’m ready to crawl back into my hole. Right now I feel like I’m walking down the street naked, and not in a good way. Not in a time-warped parallel-universe way. I’m not going to explain that. It’s a really great thought that sits on a shelf of memorable moments that occurred in a back room sometime between sundown Saturday and sunup Sunday a thousand Saturdays ago. I’m not going to explain that, either.
My writing blog is going okay, as in I started writing again. I’m putting words on it, for good or bad. But I keep having to remind myself that it’s not for anyone but me. I keep having to restrain my ego from pounding the delete button.
My little quiet space is empty, and I miss the comfort of its intimacy.
So that leaves this place, which I like. The number of eyes is increasing, though, which means less of me is showing up.
I’m going skydiving, by the way. I might die. Not as a byproduct of inertia but because of a crippling fear of heights that I have. This summer is about beating fears, which means kicking that one to the curb. What better way to do that than to jump out of an airplane with several thousand feet of air between the ground and me.
I’ve started this thing, intermittently, where all my rhetorical questions end with periods.
i like it