I feel like there’s a lot of expectations weighing on a first post.
I don’t even know how many times I’ve typed words that somehow refuse to string together, pressed on backspace rather frustratingly, and wonder if it’s the coffee that’s causing this wall on my mind that seems to be blocking my thoughts. I know what you’re thinking, isn’t coffee supposed to help?
Well, it does, most of the time. Sometimes though, like today, it’s causing a haze before my eyes that stops me from stringing one word to another.
Or maybe —
Maybe it’s because this doesn’t feel like a first post to me at all. It’s a fresh but numberless sheet on a notebook, after the pages before it were torn away, crumpled, and thrown onto the floor as witnesses of my frustrated attempt to write. Messy pages where I scrawled my messy thoughts.
Or maybe this is just another recluse’s clean, well-lighted place in a noisy, bizarre world.
I know I have censored myself in the past few years. I thought that not writing about things I feel strongly about would make them go away, as though I am keeping a flood at bay.
I don’t know.
I just know that it served me well to keep my thoughts some place other than the far corners of my mind.
So here it is, my nth attempt. Not the first, but hopefully not the last either.