I’m doing this.
Am I saying it’ll be done next week? At the end of the month? By Christmas? No. I am saying none of those things.
But I am saying that I’m doing this. And I’m telling whoever wants to listen that I am, because well, once you’ve committed aloud to something it’s a lot harder to back out. Even if it’s just some poor soul working for WordPress monitoring my site and skimming these words with glazed eyes, someone still read it.
I am an emotional person. A friend of mine laughs at me and calls me “indie” and we both find it hysterical, but it’s true. I love sad music, I love to feel things super strongly, and I can get dramatic. I hold onto things for far too long, whether emotional or physical. I blow things out of proportion depending on how important it feels in that moment.
I get swept up in the strongest current when I’m feeling hurt, cheated, heartbroken, or just overwhelmed with the feeling a beautifully tragic song can give me.
That being said, you can imagine how much of an over thinker I am. I worry about all the little things, I dream about things that are too big and unreachable. All of these questions and concerns and observations bubble up inside of me until I feel like I’m going to explode. Which I didn’t know my emotions could bottle up until a little while ago.
Because I used to have an outlet. It wasn’t until that outlet was no longer an option (thanks to yours truly) that I realized I couldn’t go without a way to let everything out. I regret that everyday, and not just for reasons found in the following sentences.
When that outlet was gone, when I wasn’t able to let the things out as they came to me, I started feeling all kinds of wrong. I felt like I was drowning, like I was on fire, but I didn’t know what to do.
I didn’t have another outlet. I had nowhere else to go. Nothing else to unleash all the things inside of me onto.
Until I decided I would have to be enough. So I cracked open old journals, filling pages upon pages of paper. Until my words were coming too fast and my hand and pen couldn’t keep up. So I moved onto computer screens, my fingertips flying across the keys.
And even after all of that, I still felt something missing. A few weeks later it was with shaking fingers that I hit publish on a blog post.
Now anyone could read it. Anyone could know the thoughts that swirled inside of me at three am, the voices that repeated themselves as I drank tea in the middle of the day. They were out there for any and everyone.
And that’s the way it has stayed for years.
back to now:
People actually started following this thing. This little corner I deemed mine and littered with my words. Majority of them know me in some way, shape or form. It startled me, made me nervous to post personal things. Because for some reason it’s a lot easier to tell strangers your life story over people you talk to face to face.
As time has gone on, I’ve fallen in and out of my love for writing. I’ve always had a desire to write about every little thing, that hasn’t gone away. But when I would read back my words, they didn’t always sound right and it would dull my motivation. Until a blank screen with a blinking dash was met by my fingers automatically pulling up a new screen and doing anything BUT filling that page.
There are always going to be days that I hate what I’ve written. There are always going to be days that I’m scared or unmotivated to write. But for everyone of those days, there’s a handful where my fingers become a blur across the keys and pages upon pages are written.
Now what to do, what do with those filled pages…
There’s this girl (Corrie), she lives across the country, and she’s the only one on this earth who has read any of my writings that are not posted to this blog. The only one that counts, the only one who I trust with the words that I love one second and despise the next.
Ever since I told her about my secret words, she’s been begging me to compile them all into a book of sorts.
I’ve considered the idea for ages and ages. It’s hard because I worry that I’ll create the lineup, put all the pages together, and then write something else a week later that I liked better, or another piece that should have been included. But I guess that’s why sequels are made.
I’ve decided to play around with the idea, I’ve got a title in the works (I’ve said that like four times over the past couple of years, just ask Corrie) and this one I’m actually really set on I think.
I’m not sure how long it will take, or how “professional” I can get it to look, but I don’t care too much. Honestly I think for myself it would just be kinda cool to see a covered book with my name on it.
So, I’m messing around with it. I’m getting pages together, looking at fonts, and writing a bit more.
I’ll be back with an “update” at some point, until then, back to …
Normal posts? Not that there ever was a normal post on this site.
Well, Corrie. I’m doing it now.