The first words after a long silence are a humungous . . . relief. A smile banana-s my face into a masterpiece of happy wrinkles and I rock with a quiet chuckle at this game I play. Of putting it off. Being afraid that it's pointless or not good enough. Having so much to say, and holding back. Corking it. Building an angst within myself only remedied by my own creative expression.
All it takes is sitting down and opening my trusty MacBook Pro. And then I'm in flow. The tiny, tiny, so fucking tiny!—things I fixate on . . . they become just that. Insignificant. Not deserving of another frantic thought spiral. They will work out. There is something bigger that magnetizes my life in an upward direction. Who could resist that?