I wrote that post last night, and I was feeling fucking awesome after writing it. Like I could conquer the world.
And then, as I was opening Hulu to watch an episode of Arrow (yes, I’m a comic book hero inspired TV show junkie), a voice in my head whispered, you know you have to write another one for tomorrow, right?
Oh shit. Yes I do.
So I closed down Hulu and came back here.
And realized this might have been a mistake. A massive mistake.
I even wondered if I could just pull out now. And I cursed myself for pressing publish on that post before I could retract my words.
Because I’m not sure what to write.
It’s not that there isn’t fodder. There is. Lots of fodder. Heaps of fodder. Fodder piled to my eye balls.
But this shit is big. These are hard subjects to broach. The require concentration and stamina. They require I give enough of a shit to write.
No, that’s not it. That’s not accurate. Because I do give enough of a shit. It just hurts to get it down.
It hurts to reach inside, find it, wrench it free, clean it off, make some sense of it, and plaster it all across this page.
I have spent so much time walking around the muck, carefully avoiding it, I don’t remember how to wade in.
Plus I don’t have any goulashes.
But after four long years of drought an El Niño is supposedly coming.
I guess I better find a pair of waterproof footwear and get used to sloshing around in the dark, wet, messy of it.