The next class starts on Monday, four days after I undergo sinus surgery, the description of which overflows the pre-op surgery checklist by a full line. The class is “The Personal Essay”, and I’ve just read a powerful and well-written essay here on Medium, Overheard in a Locker Room on war and the men who have fought in them, and another This World Our Hell about growing up with doubt and disbelief in a world where that is wrong, or maybe it is that the mother has some form of mental illness or personality disorder — either way, it’s powerful. You should read it.

So now I worry; because even though I’ve spent my life writing, the words don’t come as easily (seemingly) as they did from these two pieces. Their remembrances seem to come so easily to mind, where many of mine are buried, deep in a hole, where all bad things go. And I worry that because I’ve written so much, and my words are my own, that I may “copy myself” without realizing it and be accused of plagiarizing myself if I don’t properly cite myself, because who knows where on the Internet these words are housed?

What if I can’t tell the stories? What if…

Well…that’s the bit, I suppose, to remember, to expose, to curate memories, to curate words, and to face my fears and anxiety about telling those stories, writing those truths.