I’ve been staring at my fingers on this keyboard for what seems like hours, attempting to get them to move across the keys by sheer will. But they won’t budge. All the sentences I wanted to write have already been written and deleted in my head. I’m a failure before I even start. It’s no good, I’ll say to myself. What are you even doing sitting at your desk? Just go chill on the couch and look at YouTube on your phone. Then I shake my head, attempting to give the voice inside a concussion of its own, and just start typing. I get a sentence in, and then the right hand instinctively moves towards the mouse, ready to highlight and purge.
Not this time, though. I’ve completed an entire paragraph, and I’ve made it to the second sentence of the second. Facebook messages are beckoning me back to the couch, but my ass WILL sit firmly to the chair. I am determined. I will write this out. But what is it exactly that I’m writing? Is it good enough? Here we go again. Maybe I should just chill on the couch and figure this out.
The struggle is real, guys and gals. The bed might really be a futon in disguise, the wonderland is might really be more winter, and the smudges on my glasses might actually be scratches that I really can’t get off, even though I think I do. That only will make the movie of my life that much better.
I love where I’m at. I love the opportunity. I love the potential. I’d love it even more if those things didn’t seem to far away.
Stick around, guys. We got this.