Wednesday, July 25, 2012
- I am having a difficult time finding my words.
- My belly's hanging out.
- The older I get, the more it feels like I'm saying goodbye to things that never came to pass like children, careers, and unexpressed talents.
- I'm turning 40 this year.
- I'm reaching the end of my second year of sobriety.
- I want to smoke cigarettes every day.
- I suddenly want a tiny dog that I will dress in sweaters.
- My urge to fight with everyone competes with my desire to be liked.
- Sometimes I think I'm just seeking less potentially harmful activities to be addicted to, because dreams and addictions feel so similar.
- There is talk of real estate in my future.
- You can't fall out of love.
- Hello? Levity? You're welcome to come back at any time.
- All of my writing is in the form of rambling lists lately.
- For some reason, I've always really looked forward to being 42.
- I have a huge urge to go into seclusion/reclusion.
- I have days where my only thoughts are images and speaking is difficult.
- I have a pathological resentment of emotional obligation.
- I feel pulled between forms: poetry, prose, and verbal storytelling.
- I want to write about my past, but I worry that I am too biased.
- Making lists is another form of procrastination, but I like them.
- Keeping the faith in your life's movement is a Brobdingnagian, if entirely invisible, accomplishment.
- I question the true bond of blood.
- I have a thousand stories locked upstairs in my brain, biding their time.
- For brief moments, here and there, I am able to feel my breath and love all things, but these moments are brief.
- Do you ever feel as though you simply compost all your successes into soil to be tossed behind you so that you can cover up and distance yourself from past shame?