July 22, 2013
on letting go of maybe

This morning (OK, more like this afternoon if we’re being honest about when I woke up today), I told myself to write. Something. Anything. Just write since it has been awhile since I’ve written anything aside from an email about why someone should hire me to write for them. Irony, I believe this is called. Irony, or just the post-grad consequence of searching for a job that exercises creative writing skills.

But unfortunately today, as most days when I’ve tried convincing myself to write, I spent my time mostly thinking about what to write. Then my sister came home. Now I’m going to turn on Netflix. Suddenly it’ll become midnight and my mom will finally come home. Before I know it, I’ll be sleepy. This cycle will likely happen tomorrow when I wake in the morning—OK, afternoon.

Falling out of touch with writing definitely makes a girl feel disgusting, and what has been holding me back as of late is the fear that my writing has lost a point. Maybe I drink too much. Maybe I tune out certain levels of introspection so that I don’t have to deal with the pains of truth. Maybe all those warnings about having a life crisis in your 20s illustrated in Thought Catalog are starting to catch up with me.

And maybe I can fix all this, since a rut isn’t exactly defeat and I never really liked the uncertainty of maybe. Whatever may be the case, here’s to finally listening to myself.