A woman in her early 40s with lots to say, but doesn’t want anyone to know she’s saying it. As a writer once said, I’m still searching for my word.
That the only way I can apologise to myself is by using tenses.
For not foreseeing that compound is a word that applies to more than just interest. I am sorry for letting something that happened 25 years earlier define how you have made decisions, lived your life.
Fake it until you make it the saying goes. But what if you can’t. Or can (have, in your mind), but the whole time you know it is wrong. You know you won’t make it — it can’t last.
I feel like a fraud sometimes. Like last night, before going out to a show, sitting in the hotel bar, doing an…
There hasn’t been much writing. A cross between trying to do too much, and thinking too much. My mind goes a million miles a minute; typing slows me a bit. I am sometimes appalled at what I think, and don’t want to write it — that makes it seem more permanent. If I don’t write it, perhaps it passes by and I aren’t…
I’ve been struggling with what my word is for the past few days. Several have come in and out, but frustrated probably sums it up best. I’m frustrated with where I am in my life. My life choices. My inertia. My wants, and needs vs my reality. So for this week so far #frustrated is very much so my word.
I’ve loved words since I was little. I was reading when I was three. I still read books and papers and anything else I can get my hand on at a voracious rate. I’ll read papers in foreign countries even though I don’t speak the language, picking out the words I know, and using them to make sense of the rest…