i’m no nancy kerrigan, i will tell you that.
i should just stop there and have that be my funniest post ever.
but i never know whats good for me, so on i go.
… so i read a lot, i think sometimes, i like to stare out the window, i do strange work online for people i don’t know… and somehow in many of the circles and floats i have done, i’ve been bumping into this same question again and again, and in all the directions. specifically, why… finding, sliding, crashing into this need to question everything, to satisfy the curiosity about WHY i am thinking a thing, WHY i am desiring a thing… WHY am i going backwards in my mental gymnastics about strangers, etc… (and i think i’m done again, btw) …
i want to live this way. i WANT to. i want to question myself as i flit from room to room avoiding writing… WHY am i getting up right now? WHY am i not writing? WHy am i so uncomfortable TRYING something? WHY does my brain skitter away from the hard questions?
deeper: WHY do i want to write? WHY do i think there will be so much failure? WHY do i think i’m not smart enough? WHY? What am i so scared of?
even working my brain into a corner makes my skin hot, and i can feel my ears.