#6
Q: Why am I writing this blog?
Because sometimes, for all sorts of reasons, I clam up and stop writing. Fear stops me. Laziness stops me. Boredom stops me. Happiness stops me. All it takes sometimes is just thinking about the constant-seeming stream of problems I have to make me falter. And, sometimes, at night, that faltering becomes stumbling, and stumbling becomes falling down, and then suddenly I’v fallen into a sharp dip, and I’m rolling down, and bumping hard into things I can barely even make out, and jesus, I’m bleeding, and there is no fucking way I’m going to write just now, no way on earth.
This is here to reassure me. I wouldn’t go so far as to call this writing not ‘real’. Stringing words together is all that ever happens, for all I’d sometimes like to think that some unseen song is playing, and I am writing down the words, and aren’t I so clever, to keep that song at just the right note, except when I slip, and then I let it go, and I’m falling and rolling and fucked again.
This is a bad entry. But that’s okay. And that’s why I’m doing this. I’m human; sometimes, I will wade into such deep pools of distress that I feel like I’m at sea, and will stubbornly believe that I am completely lost. This is to ease that pressure, to remind myself what this looks like, even when it’s not going quite right.
