I have a tendency to feel full if I don’t write things down often enough. Not full like ate a second piece of cheesecake full; full like Indy’s boulder is testing the elasticity of my intestines full. Sometimes I find myself getting inexplicably anxious and then I’ll remember the last time I whipped out a pen and realize why.
I have exactly 72 drafts of various things that I can’t bring myself to finish, for one reason or another. And about 20 more half formed ideas hiding in my skull I have yet to lure out. What’s the best bait for thoughts, does anyone know?
I’ve always found that I am at my most self-destructive in early spring. This seems logical, in a sense. For those of us who live in four season climates all the April showers are a pretty blatant signal that it’s time to toss out the past and dust off the welcome mat for what’s to come.
Of course this is what I struggle with. I can carry the bags to the curb, but when it’s time to let go I dig my fingernails in and squeeze until my knuckles are as white as the snow we are wishing away.
Can’t say I’m mad about warmer weather though; it’s almost time for shorts. I’m obnoxiously into shorts. They’re going to put that on my headstone. Megan Honey: loved popcorn & shorts.